


you've got me feeling emotions (deeper than i've ever dreamed of)

by wardo_wedidit



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bullying, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining, School Reunion, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-12
Updated: 2019-03-12
Packaged: 2019-11-15 10:23:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18071612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wardo_wedidit/pseuds/wardo_wedidit
Summary: “Um,” he tries, suddenly concentrating very hard on his shoelaces. “I have what is probably a very,verystupid idea. What if… I pretended to be your boyfriend?”Or: David thinks he's come up with the perfect mutually beneficial arrangement with Patrick, but it isn't long before things start to get complicated.





	you've got me feeling emotions (deeper than i've ever dreamed of)

**Author's Note:**

> WOW my first full fic in FOUR YEARS and it's for a canon queer couple? What a fucking glow-up. 
> 
> Come get these TROPES! This couple makes me feel so many emotions and they need more AUs, I'm just trying to do my own little small part to make that happen. 
> 
> Real talk: This fic is basically canon up to 3x12, though I have rearranged some moments for my own purposes. And I gave Patrick his own apartment from the start because I couldn’t be bothered. 
> 
> (Also, there is a bit of verbal bullying that happens in the second half of the fic directed at Patrick from a OMC. It's not even as bad as what you would find in like, your typical 90s movie, but if you're worried about potentially reading it, let me know and I can help you out.)

David doesn’t think it would surprise anyone to know that he’s always been particular.

He used to have this thing when he was younger. The night before something big, whether it was the first day of school or a big trip or whatever, he would have to get up in the night and triple-check everything. He would always be weirdly wide awake at 2 AM, absolutely unable to go back to sleep until he had physically gotten out of bed and run through whatever it happened to be.

He’s able to anticipate it coming on now as an adult, and tries to be prepared. For example, the night before the store opens, he and Patrick run through the list twice just to be safe. Whenever they check something off the list, he repeats it out loud so that later, when his anxiety brain is whirring about _did I put out the shipment of moisturizer that only came yesterday_ he can remember saying, “We put out the shipment of moisturizer,” not once, but twice.

Patrick is very sweet in indulging him in all this, very politely hiding his kind smile. David definitely notices but doesn’t say anything, feeling kind of quietly pleased to be charming him with his little tics instead of sending him running in the other direction.

He even tries to anticipate it by going to bed as early as 9:00, because he’s building in time at night to wake up uncertain and restless. Because whatever he’s doing, he’s not going into the store in the middle of the night. He swears he’s not.

But then, it’s 12:30 in the morning and he doesn’t remember saying out loud that he put the price tags on those handknit sweaters, and he’s already stared at the ceiling for a good half-hour about it, and okay, maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have just a quick check.

He manages to slip out of the motel without waking Alexis, and as soon as he’s in the car on his way there he starts to relax. However, he’s surprised to pull up and see that there are lights on inside. Fuck, did he forget to turn off the lamps too?

But no, as he approaches, he can see Patrick through the big display windows. He’s behind the counter with a screwdriver, a laptop, and a determined, slightly confused look. David’s slightly puzzled himself for a second before he realizes oh _god_ , he never did the fucking _lights_.

And as angry at himself as he feels for forgetting, he also feels a rush of inescapable fondness sweep over him that Patrick is here. He tries not to think about it, tries to push it aside inside him because there’s nothing worthwhile or useful to do with that feeling, but he feels it all the same. He’s not sure if it’s sprung from the way his brow is crinkled and he’s absentmindedly biting his lip as he concentrates, or just the fact that Patrick _also_ cares enough to be here at a stupid time of night, but it’s definitely there.

Patrick does jump about a mile when David opens the door, as gentle as he was trying to be about it. “Hi,” David tries, wincing slightly as Patrick lets out a long, calming breath. “Lights?” he asks hesitantly, and Patrick relaxes into an exhausted but genuine laugh.

“Yes,” he confirms, crossing his arms across his chest. “Let me guess: price tags on the sweaters?”

David can’t help it, his jaw drops. “How did you _know_?”

“We checked it off the list twice, but you only repeated it once,” he says softly, shrugging slightly, and fuck, all the feeling David just got tucked neatly into a little box outside just comes pouring out, rushing through his entire body again.

He tries to shake it off, setting his bag down and moving to the sweaters, thumbing through them just to be sure. “Apparently, the real crime is you knew what I was doing but you didn’t prompt me, which I’m not sure but I’m also _pretty_ sure means you have it out for me as a business partner,” he says, avoiding eye contact.

Patrick laughs. “Yes, I have it out for you, that’s why I’m here trying to _wire lighting_ at this ungodly hour.”

David looks up at him and he can’t help the slight smile that slips onto his face. “Well, since I’m apparently here for no reason, do you need some help?” he asks softly, and Patrick’s grin is answer enough.

 

//

 

Luckily, Patrick knows him well enough to know that David’s strengths in the support arena lie much more in the realm of “moral” than “physical,” so he seems perfectly happy to have David sitting cross-legged on the counter, reading directions when prompted, while he’s the one up on a ladder with the screwdriver.

“So how nervous would you say you are about tomorrow, on a scale of one to ten?” Patrick asks him.

David levels him with an unimpressed look. “You think I’d be here at this time of night if I wasn’t at a full fifteen? What about you?”

Patrick takes a moment to consider. “Mmm… maybe an eight?”

David gasps, gaping at him. “An _eight_? How are you supposed to talk me off a ledge tomorrow if you’re at an eight?”

Patrick shoots him a quick indulgent smile over his shoulder before turning back to the task at hand. “Don’t worry, only about 40% of my nerves are store related.”

David freezes for a second, because what the hell does he mean by that? “Oh?” he asks, trying to sound neutral and not at all nosy.

“Yeah,” Patrick sighs. “Somehow my ex-girlfriend tracked me down and obviously, once she got here she heard about the store opening and… well, things didn’t end well between us.”

“Oh,” David repeats, repeating himself. It’s just a lot to try and process all this brand-new information and also act like a normal human being. “How serious was it?”

Patrick visibly winces. “Um, we dated on and off throughout high school, and after, and also we were actually engaged at one point—”

David chokes.

“—so, like I said, you can imagine it was bad.”

David starts nodding, and then finds he can’t stop. He’s just bobbing his head like an idiot and saying nothing because he has no idea where he’s even supposed to start in this situation. What’s the right answer?

Lucky for him Patrick doesn’t seem to require one, just relieved to vent. “I think she feels like since we’ve been on and off before that we’ll just get back together again but… I don’t know. Something feels different this time.” He pauses for a beat, and god, David wishes he could know exactly what’s going on in Patrick’s head right now. “I just wish I was dating someone, you know? Because then it wouldn’t be just words she can change, it would be real to her.”

And then, the thought hits David like a ton of bricks.

It’s almost scary how fast it comes to him. He’s had ideas knock him out like this in the past, but in those cases, it was almost always the result of some feelings bubbling under the surface he was steadfastly trying to ignore. His decision to apply to work in the gallery was spur of the moment, and in the interview he actually said that his sense of taste was really the only quality “worth anything” in his personality. And of course, there was the time he asked Stevie to come to New York with him when he realized she was probably his only real friend.

They all came to him the same way, and they all worked initially, but they also all blew up in his face kind of spectacularly. So the real question is, should he risk it?

Patrick climbs off the ladder and chances a look up at David, slightly hesitant, a side of Patrick he doesn’t really feel like he’s seen before. He suddenly feels like they are very close physically. Shouldn’t he really be sitting on the floor or something? He resists jumping off the counter and running to the other side of the store on instinct.

“Um,” he tries, suddenly concentrating very hard on his shoelaces. “I have what is probably a very, _very_ stupid idea.”

Patrick looks at him consideringly. He’s somehow dead-set on taking David seriously, even when he just warned him that he probably shouldn’t, and his expression is so earnest David can’t take it. “Shoot,” he says, and David clears his throat.

“What if… I pretended to be your boyfriend?”

Patrick’s face goes blank, completely unreadable, and David kind of wants to die. “What?”

He shrugs, avoiding direct eye contact. “You said you wished you were dating someone so she would see it’s over. We could tell people we’ve been seeing each other for about a month but wanted to keep things quiet because of the store. But now, since the store is opening, we felt like it was time.”

For once, Patrick actually seems speechless. “You would… you would do that for me?”

David shrugs again, completely unable to respond.

“But… there’s absolutely nothing in it for you. Why would you do that?”

He hops off the counter, turning so his back is to Patrick, pretending to perfect the display arrangement of the moisturizers. He can’t look at Patrick while he thinks about this. “Well, first of all, it’s not exactly good for the store if my business partner leaves his job to go back to the ex he doesn’t even want to be with. And if you must know, I haven’t dated anyone since moving here and my family has been somewhat—annoying—about my lack of prospects lately. So I would love to give them a reason to shut up for a little bit.”

“Okay, just so we’re clear, I’m not leaving the store, David. But _seriously_?” Patrick asks, such surprise in his voice David has to turn around to see his shocked expression. “You haven’t dated anyone in like, two years?”

The whole Jake thing flits briefly across his mind, but really? Did that even count? Their relationship was more like, two people who occasionally fucked and like, got food after if it was around that time. Plus, from what David’s heard, Jake’s away on some, like, hike across the entire east coast or something, so does he really have to confess to that whole utter mess? Is it necessary when it didn’t even mean anything in the first place?

So David shakes his head. “Nope.”

“But… you know this town isn’t that desolate, right? Like, there’s people here you could date.”

“See the thing is, I’m not really looking for that right now? But it’s becoming kind of inconvenient _not_ to be dating anyone, so. We’d both win.” He shrugs, trying so hard in that moment to be casual that he’s almost certain it fails.

There’s a second’s pause before Patrick says simply, “Okay.”

“Wait. Okay like yes?” David is still a minute before spinning around to look at him, incredulous, but Patrick is nodding. “Are you _serious_?”

“Are _you_ serious?” Patrick replies, the exact same tone, all carefully innocent eyes, always teasing, waiting for one of them to break.

“Yes.”

Patrick shrugs. “Then yes.”

He smirks. David gapes for a second, truly speechless. “This… isn’t the way I thought this would go,” he admits.

Patrick’s smirk turns into a full-on grin. “Look, as long as we’re on the same page, I’m fine with it. As long as it benefits both of us.” He turns back to the light but David can see the way his smile turns, becomes something smaller and private as he sneaks a final glance out of the corner of his eye. “I gotta say David, you remain… full of surprises.”

Something about the way he says it makes David’s stomach do somersaults in the best kind of way. He thinks to himself that even if Patrick changes his mind in the morning, it might all have been worth it for this one moment, this one feeling.

 

//

 

They manage to get the lights up while they plan logistics, but they’re still there much too late. Despite the hour, David does not go straight to bed when he goes home. He sits at a picnic bench to the side of the motel and calls Stevie, because he needs help making sense of what the hell just happened. She curses him out thoroughly for waking her at first, but it only takes two or three pleas that it’s an _emergency_ to get her to listen while he explains himself.

Then she’s back to swearing at him again.

“ _Why_ are you mad now?” he asks, offended.

“First of all, we’re going to need to discuss and _explicitly define_ the definition of an emergency in person tomorrow when you can clearly see my eyes. Secondly, you are an idiot. _Why didn’t you just ask him out_?”

David gapes, utterly speechless. “ _What_?”

She heaves a heavy sigh into the phone. “You are such a dumbass. You guys get along _so well_. Have you seen you two? It’s bordering on cavity-inducing.”

“He’s my _business_ partner. I can’t ask him out, that would be weird.”

“Weirder than _this_?” she screeches. He hears another litany of curses, and then she hangs up. Tomorrow he is going to read her the riot act about how to treat people in _crisis_.

 

//

 

David has never been more nervous than the morning of the opening. He also hasn’t been this exhausted in a while, which is equally disorienting. He’s going to need a large coffee at the first opportunity, and failing that, he’s going to need the adrenaline to kick in ASAP.

There was a line of people forming when he arrived— _much_ too early, why did they even bother going home to sleep at all—and Patrick reported that the line was wrapped around the side of the store when he came in.

Currently, David is standing ever-so-gracefully on top of a wooden box to peek out of the tiny window in the back. “Um, Patrick?”

“Yes?” Patrick asks, counting the bottles of wine they have left in the case for the thousandth time like a nervous tic.

“It’s down the street. The line is down the street. It looks like we’re one of those weird hipster food trend places… like, I don’t know, gourmet crickets or something,” David says, and it almost feels like there’s something stuck in his throat. He starts frantically fanning himself with both hands. He turns around to face Patrick, who’s looking at him and trying to hide his slight surprise.

“Wow, who knew you had so many friends? Or family?” he replies, obviously trying to make light of it all for David’s sake (and kindly ignoring his verbal diarrhea) so his business partner doesn’t start hyperventilating right then and there. Smart. Probably best for opening day optics.

He steps carefully off the stool and starts pacing. “Oh my _god_ , what are we gonna do? Like, do we even have enough food, or—”

“Hey,” Patrick says, stepping toward him and grabbing the sleeve of his sweater. He’s wearing a kind smile and of course David knows that’s not like, special, or means anything or whatever, but he has to say, he does really like that particular smile of Patrick’s. He likes his whole face, if they’re being absolutely honest, but there’s something about his eyes when he smiles at David in that way that makes him feel like the complete focus of his attention. Completely special. And it does calm him, weirdly. “David. Relax. It’s all gonna be fine. We’re ready.”

David nods, takes a deep steadying breath. “Okay. Yes. You’re right. I’ll go—” and he moves to go outside, go open the doors, and get this thing started.

“Wait,” Patrick says, quick, pulling his sleeve again and David is pulled back into his orbit and then some. They’re closer than before and _Patrick_ looks terrified now, and that’s never happened, and— _oh_.

“Is everything… still okay?” he asks, not wanting to say the full thing out loud for fear they’ll both hear how crazy it sounds and drop it right now. _Do you still think fake-dating me is the best option for you at the moment, or did a logic bomb drop on you last night and now you’ve realized that there’s basically no incentives for you to go along with this crazy plan, but even if you wanted to, you could certainly find someone better?_

Patrick nods unsteadily, and David tries to shoo all those thoughts away, but it’s hard when part of Patrick still looks like he might vomit. “Just—nervous,” he says, smiling shakily, and god, David’s heart melts against his will.

“Don’t be,” he says, shaking his head and smiling. A real one, not a half-smirk or a sarcastic grin. And somehow, Patrick seems to take comfort in that. He smiles back, slow but true, and before he’s even thinking about what he’s doing, David is leaning forward and kissing him.

He’s not quite sure where that came from. He’s not usually that particular flavor of bold. But, he does know a thing or two about getting in his own head, and he could recognize the signs on Patrick’s face. In those situations, it’s always best if someone just snaps him out of it, so David just… snapped.

Somehow, Patrick’s not surprised at all—he follows, soft and tender, kissing David back with this sort of gentle feeling that honestly makes him a little dizzy.

The thing is. David hasn’t had many kisses that actually mean something. And this one should mean the least of all, because it’s not even real.

But somehow, his heart is beating out of his chest and his stomach is doing cartwheels, and all he can think about is the way Patrick is breathing him in and kissing him back, and god, he knows it’s not right but David wants more of it.

He pulls away slow, almost dazed, and Patrick looks soft and David is worried for a minute until he smiles. “Thank you, David,” he says, his voice a little deep and rough. “I’ve—I’ve never done that before. With a guy.”

And normally this is the moment that David would take to launch right into a mental anxiety spiral, worrying about every little detail of this and very many ways this is a terrible idea. He must have known that on some level, right? But Patrick went with it so easily last night that maybe he thought he did. Before he can fall fully down the rabbit hole, Patrick continues. “I was worried because with an audience out there, like that, I, um. I might have been too scared to kiss you, the first time,” he admits, his cheeks coloring with a slight blush, and um, _what_?

But David doesn’t even have time to process that statement before Patrick’s saying, “So, um. It means a lot to me that our first could be. Um… real. Private,” he corrects himself, blushing harder now.

God, how does David even respond to that? What does he say? He shakes his head slightly, kind of at a loss for words, and all he can choke out is, “You’re welcome,” and it sounds weak and he knows it.

Maybe Patrick is taking pity on him, thinking he’s still just all hazy from the kiss, because his smile turns into a soft chuckle and he untangles his hand from David’s fingers, pushes him forward slightly, gently. “Go,” he says, nodding toward the front of the store. “Go open the store,” and his grin and the glint in his eye is something David wants to carry around with him forever.

Stil, David does as he suggests, sneaking one last glance at Patrick before he opens the doors, who shoots him a look that is equal parts excited and encouraging. David could swear that’s what gives him the power to throw open those doors.

Oh god. He is so fucked.

 

//

 

David had worried about how to get the news out there without looking suspicious or obvious. They’d tossed around a few ideas the night before, but hadn’t come to any firm conclusions.

They’re only about half an hour into their official opening when it happens. David is explaining the discount to Bob for what feels like the nine hundredth time when Patrick comes over. “Hey,” he says quickly to Bob before turning fully to David. “When you’re done here, do you mind talking to Doris about the ingredients in the different face creams? She’s looking for something with manuka honey, apparently, and you know I always get them mixed up.”

David resists rolling his eyes. Manuka honey, what a diva. “Yeah, sure thing.”

“Thanks,” Patrick says, with this smile that is genuine and warm at first, but then goes sort of frozen as he seemingly tries to communicate with his eyes. David has never been able to read his mother or father’s eye signals and he’s not doing very well with these either, until Patrick leans in and gives him a quick but familiar kiss before he sweeps away.

When David turns back to Bob, his eyes are big and bright, like he’s barely containing the information he just discovered. “You know what, David? I think I better just, uh… step outside and… call Gwen and… make sure we don’t have any body milk at home already!” he says, all awkward laughter, and then he nearly _sprints_ out to share the gossip as soon as possible.

When Patrick looks over, David shoots him a subtle thumbs up, and he beams.

 

//

 

They play it up throughout the day, exchanging quick kisses and gentle touches at strategic moments, where just enough people are looking that it’s obvious but not too many that it seems staged. He also kind of can’t keep his eyes off Patrick all day, and they end up exchanging what is probably two dozen utterly giddy smiles. Somehow, they feel more real than the rest of it, like they can’t believe what they’re getting away with.

And even though they’re only been in this less than 24 hours, something in David’s stomach plummets when a cute, redheaded girl walks in, her brows drawn together and a worried set to her mouth. He immediately knows it must be Rachel. She crosses her arms and when Patrick sees her, all the color drains from his face.

David is across the room, so all he can do is watch as she approaches him. She’s visibly upset, and David can’t hear over the noise but he’s pretty sure she’s pleading with Patrick. Patrick sighs and leads her to the back room. David does hear the door to the back alley shut. He promises himself he’s not going to be nosy, but when someone asks him if they have any more grapefruit soy candles in stock, well, he has to go back and check, right?

He tries to be as quick as possible, but he does hear raised voices—he wouldn’t say angry, more like frustrated or defensive—though he can’t make out the words.

It’s a good twenty minutes before Patrick returns. Rachel is nowhere in sight.

He makes his way over to David, going for casual even though his cheeks are flushed and his eyes seem slightly red.

“Hey,” David murmurs, wincing already. “Are you okay?”

Patrick shakes his head with a smile that doesn’t feel quite right. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. That was kind of, um. A lot, I guess. But don’t worry about me,” he insists, smiling harder, an almost determined quality to his face.

David doesn’t want to draw any more attention to them at the moment, but he draws Patrick into a hug anyway. He feels Patrick let out a deep breath against him, somewhere between exhaustion and relief, and god, David knows how that feels.

“Thanks,” Patrick murmurs as he pulls away, everything about him a little more himself.

“Anytime,” David replies easily, and he surprises himself with how much he means it.

 

//

 

News travels fast in Schitt’s Creek. His family trickles in that afternoon, and of course, they’ve already heard.

David blames the Jazzagals. Or maybe council.

“David! This is amazing!” Alexis crows, shuffling over with her arms open wide for a hug, which David gives, even as he rolls his eyes through it.

“Always good to see the Rose name on another small business, son,” his dad says, smiling so hard his face might crack in half.

His mother can’t seem to stop looking around, slightly in awe. “You’ve managed to combine Fifth Avenue modernity with rapturous small town charm, David.”

He beams at that one, because of course she would get the vibe. “Thank you,” he says, preening a little. “But please remember that no matter how much you compliment me, the friends and family discount cannot be stacked or combined.”

“Oh, David,” Alexis says, her voice curious, doing that thing where she’s pretending this is an impromptu comment and not something she mentally workshopped in the car. He could spot that tone a mile off. “We do have another question, though? Is it… _just_ the store we’re celebrating?”

She follows it up with a satisfied and excited smile, truly one of a sibling who believes they have just thrown a grenade in the best possible spot. David busies himself with refolding the sweater he’s holding for maybe the tenth time. “What else would you be celebrating, Alexis?”

His father takes a deep breath and oh god, here it comes. “Well, son, we heard a rumor that you and Patrick were… maybe… dating,” he says, all slow, drawn-out awkwardness that makes David want to curl up in a ball and die.

David freezes, narrowing his eyes slightly at them. They’re all stock still, eyes wide, waiting for confirmation. Alexis is basically holding her breath. “Where did you hear that?” he asks, playing dumb.

“I’m afraid Bob’s wife Gwen is rather chummy with Ronnie, and you _know_ I have to be in the know about goings-on as a member of council, David,” his mom says, emphasizing his name as if he was silly to ask in the first place. “At first I denied it unequivocally, but then Ronnie relayed that Bob had found you two _canoodling in the store_ , out in the open, and I didn’t know _what_ to think! My own son, leaving me out of the loop like this!”

“Mm,” David says, nodding as he pretends to listen sympathetically. “That must have been hard for you.”

Alexis bounces on the tips of her toes, impatient and nearly bursting with enthusiasm. “Oh my god just _tell us_ , David! Are you getting it on with that button-faced boy!”

David shoots her a look meant to embarrass her into behaving, though of course it does no such thing. “Fine,” he enunciates through gritted teeth. “If you all must know, we’ve been dating a few weeks but wanted to keep it under wraps because of everything with the store,” he says.

Alexis slaps his arm lightly, the way she does when she’s overexcited. “He’s your _business partner_ , David!”

“Yes, thank you for the reminder, Alexis.”

“Well, personally, I think it’s great that you’re getting back out there,” his dad says, practically tripping over himself to try and drag the conversation back into normalcy. “You’re a fine young man and anyone would be lucky to have you. Frankly, your mother and I were starting to get a little worried, what with your—er—drought, recently—”

“ _Oh_ my god, please stop speaking immediately.”

His mother cuts in, voice carrying, and suddenly David is regretting absolutely everything about this plan. “All your father’s trying to say, dear, is that we’re happy for you and young Peter and the _amour_ you’ve found together—”

“First of all, his name is Patrick, and secondly, please delete the word _amour_ from your vocabulary.”

His mother rolls her eyes but his dad is unperturbed. “We should have him over to the motel some night for dinner! And bonding!”

David shakes his head decisively with a sarcastic smile. “Never gonna happen, but thanks. Now, you’ve taken up enough time in my store without buying anything and I have customers with actual questions to assist.”

Alexis still looks like the cat that got the cream, looping their father’s arm through her own. “Come on, Dad, let’s go look at the bath salts over here near _Patrick._ ” Her eyes go big and teasing and David bares his teeth at her in warning.

His mother steps in closer. “Honestly dear, we are very proud of you...The store looks absolutely resplendent. And all on your own, too!”

David smiles, a real one this time. “Thank you.” He ducks his head. “But Patrick helped. A lot.”

She smiles at him, real and kind, and a tremor of guilt runs through him. “Of course he did, dear,” she replies, giving his hand a quick squeeze before following his dad and Alexis.

David crosses his fingers that she remembers his name correctly this time, but overall, he’s kind of impressed with how smoothly that went. Compared to his nightmares, at least.

He thinks for a second that maybe he over-thought this whole venture, that he didn’t give his family enough credit. They may be obnoxious and annoying, but he probably doesn’t need to lie to them just to make his life marginally easier.

Was he just coming up with excuses to spend more time with Patrick? What the hell was he doing? Was Stevie right, is this all just something to hide behind?

Patrick catches his eye while talking to his father, face full of something like gentle mischief, or an inside joke only they know, and David wants to bottle up and save for a rainy day, and decides to let himself have this. Just for a little while.

It can’t hurt to just… see how things go.

Patrick hugs him in congratulations that night after everyone has left and they’re cleaning up. It is long and lingering, and it’s only then when David thinks, _Oh, I see how this could hurt._

 

//

 

The first time David stays over at Patrick’s is because of a corpse at the motel.

He wishes it had been under better circumstances, that he could have given Patrick some kind of warning or maybe a couple days to mentally prepare for the idea of someone invading his space, but he seems genuinely fine with it, so David tries not to worry too much.

As the day goes on, he starts to consider the upsides of this. He’ll get a night of space from his parents and Alexis. He’ll get to sleep somewhere that is presumably not a twin bed. And if he’s honest with himself, he’s kind of dying to see Patrick’s space, to get a glimpse of him in his natural habitat.

They stay pretty busy for most of the day, so they don’t get too much of a chance to talk, but they do tease each other on and off the way they always do, and then they’re cashing out for the day and sweeping, locking up. The easy banter is still going strong, so much so that David barely notices it’s happening.

That’s kind of the way he’s always been with Patrick, though, he tries to remind himself. From the start, their conversation had always come so easy, effortless in a way he’s never experienced with anyone outside his immediate family—except, of course, Stevie (and he tends to think of her more as immediate family, lately).

It all goes so smoothly that he doesn’t even notice that they’re stepping into Patrick’s apartment at first, and then he cuts himself off immediately. Patrick sort of blinks at him, like he’s not sure what’s changed, and David shakes himself.

“Sorry… this is just a really nice place,” he explains, slightly shy in the way he’s looking around, trying to see as much as he can without looking too nosy.

“Oh,” Patrick says, shrugging. “It’s not, really. When Ray first showed it to me, there was a curtain instead of a bathroom door,” he chuckles, throwing his keys down on the kitchen counter.

At first glance, David would say that it’s slightly sparse. Despite the fact that Patrick’s been here a few months, it still has a bit of a feel like he’s just moved in, hasn’t fully settled into the space yet. But the more he looks, the more David notices these small touches that are clearly, indisputably Patrick: there’s a framed ticket stub to a baseball game on hung on a wall here, his guitar sitting proudly on a stand in the corner, some books carefully arranged on the coffee table. It’s comfortable, not overwhelming… the more he takes in, the more he can see the coziness to it.

“That’s not what I mean,” David says, flushing slightly.

Patrick turns to gape at him, all mischievous and playful eyes. “Excuse me, did you just compliment my interior decorating skills? Does this mean I get to make changes to the store? Quick, let me get online, there are these bookshelves I’ve been eyeing—”

“Okay,” David says firmly, even though he knows Patrick’s pulling his chain. “Let’s not get carried away? It’s a good… start. Could use some better sheets,” he suggests, pulling a fussy face mostly for show, and Patrick surely knows that by the way he’s grinning at him.

Patrick had said before that he was a pretty comfortable cook, so David is curious to settle in and watch him, but Patrick arms him with a unsettlingly large knife and a cutting board and instructs him to cut vegetables for a “quick side salad,” which just sounds so much easier than David has skills for. It takes him a good ten minutes to cut two carrots because he’s terrified of cutting his finger right off. Patrick assures him it wouldn’t be that easy, but David’s definitely read somewhere that cutting a carrot and cutting through a human finger take the same amount of force, so he’s not sure he trusts him on this one, and informs him so.

Patrick rolls his eyes fondly and puts his hands over David’s, showing him the proper technique slowly and methodically, and all the thoughts conveniently exit his head when Patrick touches him, his fingers light on David’s hand, then his wrist.

“Got it?” Patrick asks, stepping back, and David nods numbly, still frozen.

The balsamic chicken that Patrick whipped up seemingly out of thin air is unexpectedly delicious, and David compliments him multiple times. Maybe slightly too enthusiastically, if Patrick’s amused face is anything to go by. David’s also quietly impressed by the choice of wine, which pairs nicely, though he does joke it’s not quite Herb Ertlinger’s. (Patrick, unsurprisingly, has never heard of their “critically acclaimed” fruit wines, so David has to recount that whole spectacle for him.)

They eat sitting across from each other, talking on and off, mostly about work and ideas for the store, and it’s nice to have this kind of uninterrupted conversation together, David thinks. No customers to cut them off, no one to walk in and shatter the vibe.

David offers to do the dishes since it’s only fair, but Patrick just looks at him with a jokingly skeptical expression and tells him not to worry about it, to just relax for tonight.

“You can get them next time,” he says, ducking his head as he takes David’s plate, and this full-body heat floods through David at the assumption, the suggestion.

He does try to entertain Patrick by regaling him with his greatest hits from his time at the Blouse Barn, since they had been talking about David’s former retail experience Patrick had maintained that “living in _New York_ ” wasn’t a fully adequate answer, and honestly, David has to admire his instincts for the truth. He gets a kick out of hearing about David’s initial awkwardness there, and by the time he gets to the part about the gothic ostrich statue, Patrick is nearly crying with laughter.

“Well, no wonder this is going so well, I guess second time's the charm for you,” Patrick suggests, and David eyes him with a wicked, knowing look, nodding along.

There’s a beat, and they both catch their breath, and somehow it feels like the first time either of them have really done that all night. David’s already in his head about it, wondering if this is the moment where things take a turn for the awkward, and then Patrick breaks the silence.

“This is nice,” he says, and David blushes at the words immediately. Patrick has always been a really genuine person, and David’s adjusting to that, but it’s harder when it’s addressed directly to him.

“What’s nice?” he asks, suddenly studying his wine glass with intensity.

Patrick shrugs. “Having someone here in the evenings. To like, talk to about stuff. I mean—not that I’m one of those guys that can’t spend a second alone, I don’t want you to think that—”

“Mhm,” David agrees, nodding, trying not to concentrate on the rush that went through him at the thought that Patrick cares how and what David thinks of him.

“—and when I first moved here it was really good to have time to myself but… anyway. It just always feels more like home when you have someone to talk to at the end of the day, you know?” Patrick asks, and there’s something so open and brave about his face. Like he knows what he’s just said, what he’s given away, and he’s trusting David with it.

The thing is, David _does_ know. He remembers how soul-crushingly lonely he often felt in New York, even when he had everything he ever wanted. And while he wouldn’t exactly choose sleeping four feet away from his sister for his ideal life, having her under the same roof instead of three continents away most of the time has made everything in his life feel more real.

He likes the thought of being that for someone.

“Yes,” he admits, meeting Patrick’s eyes. “It is nice.”

 

//

 

“So… I can sleep on the couch, or you can, if you’d prefer, but I just thought since you’re in the motel you might like the bed—” Patrick babbles later, kind of not meeting David’s eyes.

To be honest, David hadn’t thought about this part initially. The going to bed awkwardness. He can’t believe he didn’t think of this, didn’t set up some ground rules ahead of time or something. Has he learned nothing from Alexis’ many experiences? Because now Patrick’s looking at him with all this uncertainty, which all could have been avoided, and is such a shame because everything had been a really good night up until now.

He clears his throat. “Oh, um. I wouldn’t have agreed to stay if I knew I was kicking you out of your bed.”

“It’s no trouble, really,” Patrick says almost as soon as David finishes, rushing to get it all out. “I don’t mind at all. Really. You should, um. You should feel comfortable and at home here.”

It’s times like these that David doesn’t know what to do with his earnestness, because he’s never been this… close to someone like this before. He can’t imagine anyone he ever dated before now giving two fucks if he was comfortable and “felt at home” at their place. In fact, he can think of at least one person who specifically _asked_ if he could crash on the couch after sex because they had a “sensitive sleep condition” where they needed the whole bed to themselves.

“Um. Okay,” he manages.

“Just because you’ll be spending some significant time here,” Patrick continues, and David raises his eyebrows. “You know, to make it look believable.”

“Ah,” David says, pausing for a moment, and if he didn’t know better he would guess that Patrick was _nervous_.

He clears his throat and tries another tactic. “Well, if I’m going to be spending significant time here, I don’t want you to be uncomfortable in your own home just for my sake.” Patrick blushes slightly, like he feels silly now, and David doesn’t want that either. “And unless I’m missing something, this is a queen bed which we could _both_ sleep comfortably in.”

Patrick nods and seems to re-center. “Yes,” he agrees. “Right, yes, we will definitely both be more comfortable in the bed.” There’s a slight apology in his eyes and David shakes his head, as if to say it isn’t necessary. It’s sweet, really, that Patrick cares so much. That he was trying to anticipate his needs like that. It’s above the call of duty for a fake boyfriend, for sure, but David appreciates the commitment to the role.

“Do you have a favorite side?” he asks, more for just something to say than anything else. To get their easy conversation back. And it’s a weak attempt, but it at least kind of works, because Patrick grins.

“No, you know, I like to shake it up. Let the night speak to me, live life on the edge,” he shrugs, playful.

David smirks, nods along. “ _Very_ your vibe,” and then concentrates on rummaging through his bag for his travel skincare routine.

By the time he’s emerged from the bathroom, Patrick is wearing just a plain t-shirt and plaid boxers, which David pretends not to see as he climbs into bed. Patrick notices him in a moment, face morphing into kind amusement.

“That’s what you wear to bed?” he asks, eyes tracking from his sweater all the way down to the hem of his black cotton pajama pants, hem pooling slightly around his feet.

“Excuse you,” he responds, prickly, tugging at the sleeves as if he can length them. “This is All Saints.”

Patrick chuckles. “Okay, sure, but who wears a sweater that fancy to bed?”

“I’m sorry, does your bed have a dress code policy I’m unaware of?” he asks, joking lightness in his voice while climbing into the covers on the other side. He settles himself in, and god, this is actually a really nice bed. He’s very glad he didn’t take the couch out of courtesy. “And, if you must know, I tend to run very cold.”

Patrick nods seriously at that information, like he’s filing it away for later, and it would actually be adorably cute—if they were actually dating—that he cares about that. “So the sleeves that fall right around your knuckles isn’t the hot new trend? Because I need to know if I should tip off Vogue, or something.”

David fake smiles at him. “Yes and no, actually? It does serve a functional purpose, but how dare you ever accuse me of being off-trend.”

Patrick breaks, laughing softly. And then he does something that David couldn’t predict—he reaches out and takes David’s hands between his. It feels like an agonizingly slow movement to David, though there’s no way it could have been, and all he can think is _what is happening_.

David keeps his gaze fixed on their hands together for a long moment before he looks up at Patrick, who’s also looking at them, faux-concerned. “Okay, confirmed,” he says, his thumb stroking slow over David’s wrist bone. “Your hands are very cold.” He looks up, meets David’s eyes, and smiles before pulling away, and David feels frozen in place.

Patrick is turning off the lights and lying down now, so David does the same, turning to face the opposite way so he won’t stare at Patrick’s back until he falls asleep. He knows doing that would send him into full overanalyzing mode and he won’t sleep a wink and what a waste of a night in this excellent bed _that_ would be.

“Goodnight, David,” Patrick murmurs in the dark, low and soft.

“Goodnight, Patrick,” he replies, quiet, and he squeezes his eyes shut, and tries not to think about how intimate two whispers in the dark can feel.

 

//

 

“Hey,” Patrick says when he walks into the store a few days later. “What should I wear to this dinner?”

David takes a fortifying sip of coffee and takes off his sunglasses. “You look best in blue. What dinner is this?”

Patrick shoots him a shy smile, not looking at him directly. “You didn’t want to ask that first?”

He draws himself up, trying to look his most professional. “I know my color palettes, thank you.”

He gets a small laugh from Patrick in response, which makes him feel kind of tingly and fuzzy inside. “Your family barbeque tonight. Your dad just texted me about it.”

David gapes at him, slightly horrified. “Why does my dad have your number?”

“Oh, he gave it to me at the opening. You know, in case we needed any business advice,” he says nonchalantly, and David suspects that Patrick is maybe playing this up to tease him, but he is still absolutely aghast.

“And… has he given you any?”

“Sort of,” Patrick allows, smile widening as he looks at David head-on. “I’ve gotten some juicy tidbits about the inner workings of Rose Video, that’s for sure.” He arches his brows at David playfully, while David tries to forget all of this information as soon as possible.

“That’s extremely alarming,” he allows, setting his bag down in the stock room. “Also, I think the barbeque was just an idea they were floating around? I don’t think it’s actually happening,” he winces, “So sorry.”

“Oh no,” Patrick says, confidence ringing through his voice, “Your dad specifically texted me to invite me, since he said you maybe weren’t up to date on all the details and might forget.” He levels David with a knowing look, like he’s aware of exactly what’s happening and is calling David’s bluff here.

“Mm,” David says, nodding, noncommittal, still trying to find any possible way out of this. Yes, he wanted a fake boyfriend so his family would chill out a little and maybe so he could get some space, but no, he definitely didn’t want to put Patrick in his parents’ extremely embarrassing crosshairs for an extended period of time.

However, he can’t really see another option. He’s been outmaneuvered by Johnny Rose, dammit.

“In that case,” he allows, “I would not recommend changing clothes, since I’m pretty sure my dad found the grill behind the motel and it looks about a million years old, and also, FYI, none of us have ever grilled in our lives, so I’m fairly certain you’ll be taking on that role.”

Patrick laughed, part humor and part surprise. “So I’ve been invited over to cook dinner, basically?”

David shrugs, jokingly smug. “And _that_ is what you get for accepting the invitation before talking to me.”

 

//

 

The dinner goes overwhelmingly well, enough so that David is almost suspicious of his family.

Patrick basically does the grilling, but is sly enough about it that Johnny thinks it was him. Moira remembers his name correctly and even tries for “Pat” at one point, which almost makes David’s eyes boggle out of his head. Alexis asks Patrick all kinds of questions, like she’s compiling some kind of dossier, but Patrick seems to appreciate her interest. Her embarrassing anecdotes about David are also kept to a minimum—the story about how he didn’t know how to ride a bike until last year, really, is that the best she can do? Stevie is even on her best behavior and only throws David a couple of annoyingly knowing looks, which is maybe the most surprising of all.

David is also fairly shocked that Patrick seems just as eager to impress them as they are him, which David can’t quite parse in his head. He even reveals that he worked for a Rose Video in high school, which David is pretty sure makes his dad’s _year_ , and David can’t help wondering how long he was hiding that one under a bushel, waiting for the perfect moment.

He gets hugs— _hugs!_ —from Alexis and Johnny as they leave, and Moira even chips in for a warm pat on the arm.

“Well, that went well,” David says, practically gaping at him from the passenger seat as he puts on his seatbelt.

Patrick laughs. “What did you think I was going to do, David, try and alienate your whole family?”

“More like the other way around, but still,” David says, unable to help the grin taking over his face, “You were certainly on your best behavior.”

“Well let me enlighten you on my performance: that’s what you do when you like someone you’re dating and you meet their family.”

David shrugs. “I don’t know, I don’t usually get to that point. And if I do, it’s because they want to, like. Make connections with them. Or something.” He shifts slightly in his seat, regretting the words as soon as they’re out.

There’s a beat, and then Patrick deadpans, “So I guess this is a bad time to tell you that all of this was just a long-con to get on your mom’s good side for council stuff?”

David can’t help the laugh that escapes him, hitting Patrick lightly in the arm for good measure. Patrick laughs too, and David feels a kind of irresistible lightheartedness at this feeling, which he can only identify as the happiness that comes from everyone he likes liking each other and getting along.

It’s a new one, but he thinks he could get used to it.

 

//

 

A couple weeks later, David starts worrying about the store.

The opening buzz has worn off a bit, and even though they still have people coming in, they now definitely have slow days. Patrick tells him over and over again that it’s not something to lose sleep over, but maybe they should think about doing something more proactive.

David can’t even describe the full-body shudder that moves through him at the suggestion of an open mic night. They have a whole discussion where David tells him about one he went to in New York which included a girl standing on stage for a full ten minutes screaming “Sticks and stones may break my bones but words will DECIMATE ME!” over and over again. And that was the whole thing.

The fact that Patrick finds this story funny instead of deeply troubling is honestly worrying.

And then, from there everything just moves so fast! Patrick comes back and he has a permit and he spends the afternoon making flyers and suddenly he’s also _performing_ in it, which David knows was definitely not discussed. Patrick teases him about it over and over, and David knows he wouldn’t go out of his way to make him anxious, so he tries to conceal it as much as possible. He just doesn’t know how this is going to go.

He opts for an black and bright orange sweater the next day in hopes that it will radiate the confidence he doesn’t have about this whole situation, and it’s almost worth it for Patrick’s surprised look when he walks into the store alone.

“Is that what you’re wearing?”

David shrugs, looks down at his top, and then back at Patrick. “I just didn’t want to be outshined by any potential fringed vests,” he says, and Patrick laughs softly.

“You don’t have to worry, you know,” he says, something reassuring in his voice. “I’m not going to embarass you.”

David feels a flash of guilt, because that’s not exactly what’s bothering him, and he doesn’t want Patrick to think that it is. “I’m not worried about _you_ ,” he clarifies. “It’s just that there are definitely a couple of people in this town who would _love_ to take this opportunity to do something cringey. Um. Also, I’m not exactly good? With my face? At these kinds of things.”

He is at least a little bit worried that Patrick will be terrible, or just bad enough for it to be uncomfortable, but the main part of his anxiety stems from the way he knows he won’t be able to disguise his expression. And sure, that’s one thing when it’s about Bob’s inevitably terrible beat poetry, but he doesn’t want to hurt Patrick. He never wants that.

Patrick shoots him a look that David would almost call indulgent. “You don’t have to worry,” he repeats, soft and utterly sincere. Then his voice brightens, playful again, as he says, “I think Ray’s used to that reaction when he’s workshopping his standup routine,” all mischievous glee.

He holds his head in his hands, not even able to look up. First of all, how much of that was real, and second of all, who ever had it out for him by suggesting Ray do _stand up_ , of all things?

Much to his chagrin, the day is busier than either of the previous two have been, with people filing in to sign up for a time slot for tonight and asking who else will be performing, what the refreshments will be like (Roland, of course), and so while David doesn’t have too much time to chirp back at forth at Patrick about it, he does spend pretty much the whole day thinking about it.

Then, afterward, they’re caught up in setup, and David loses himself in the details of just where the fairy lights should be hung and the correct place for the drinks station to be. At the very least, it’s distracting, but he also knows he’s good at it, which is a nice feeling.

At one point, he catches Patrick grinning at him out of the corner of his eye.

“What?” he demands, trying not to sound too nervous or harsh.

Patrick smiles at him for a second before responding. “You care about this,” he murmurs, something a little bit gloating in his eyes, but there’s also a hint of pride there.

David scoffs, turning his attention back to setting up the chairs exactly the same distance apart, trying to appear too busy for a serious response. But he does feel caught-out, like Patrick saw something real there.

Once people start to filter in he snaps into host mode, saying hello and offering everyone drink tickets and doing his best to sell the store, not necessarily the event. Patrick was right about one thing: purchases are up, and they definitely need to figure out something they can do like this in the future. Just—hopefully not this.

He basically does okay until Patrick’s at the microphone saying, “I’d like to dedicate this to someone special in my life, David Rose,” and everyone turns to look at him. He tries to do an awkward smile and wave without communicating the fact that he wants a black hole to appear and swallow him up right there. He should have come up with some kind of code signal for his mom and the fire alarm, they could deploy it right now and no harm would be done—

“There he is, right there, that’s him,” Patrick continues, obvious affection in his voice, and oh my god he’s getting the _whole town_ to tease David along with him. “Can’t miss him,” he says in a softer, more private voice, and something in David’s stomach evaporates into butterflies as he strums the first couple notes.

“I call you when I need you, my heart’s on fire,” he sings, and David feels those stomach butterflies swoop right down to his toes.

Patrick’s voice is beautiful. Gentle and soft and fragile, a quiet folksy quality to it that makes David go a little bit weak. He hadn’t ever expected him to be outright bad, he just hadn’t ever expected him to be _this good_.

And he’s singing fucking Tina Turner. Right at David, staring into his eyes like it’s all just for him, and David looks around quickly for a second like seeing other people will confirm this is truly happening. Everyone is staring at Patrick a little bit in awe and others a little bit charmed, and David sees how people could fall in love with him, in this moment. It is some kind of grand gesture.

David would probably be feeling it too, if he wasn’t already there.

He tries to steady himself. He clears his throat quietly, brow furrowing, and there are fucking tears forming behind his eyes that he is determined to hold back. Patrick sings “better than all the rest, better than anyone,” and that line in particular strikes him as both so off-base as something anyone would ever say to describe David and yet… true. Like Patrick really means it. And the way he’s looking at him feels like confirmation.

The longer it goes on the less he can help the way his features melt into spellbound, lovestruck expression. He knows he’s doing what Alexis would call a “face journey,” but there’s just no stopping it. He’s gone from stunned to unsure to tentative to choked up to so fucking _happy_ in no time at all, and he can’t help but forget it isn’t real.

At one point his mother grabs his arm to steady herself but he can’t even look at her. He’s not Alexis, he’s never been one to angle for the spotlight, but somehow Patrick has made this feel small and intimate and not even scary. Like it’s just the two of them, and everyone else is background noise.

And then it’s over, and everyone is clapping, and it takes David a moment to snap out of it and clap along with them, transfixed by watching Patrick laugh as he steps away from the microphone, a little bit of bashfulness creeping out. He feels all the eyes on him and he knows he’s openly transmitting about twenty emotions on his face at the moment for everyone to see, but then Patrick calls up the next act and the attention is gone. He lets out a long, deep breath.

His mother is absorbed in conversation with Jocelyn and Roland, so he seizes the moment to slip away a little bit. He doesn’t want to have to talk about this yet. He needs a moment to process it all. He needs to talk to Patrick.

He doesn’t get the chance for the next few acts. Patrick stays up at the side of the stage, and David tells himself that it’s probably just that he wants to get the night into a comfortable swing first. And then once it is, people keep pulling him aside to compliment him, all of which David watches him shrug off with a blush. It isn’t until Ted starts his set—which is honest to god making balloon animals with accompanying puns to music—that David’s able to tug his sleeve and corner him.

Literally. He drags him into a corner so only Patrick can see his inevitably dumb facial expressions.

“Um, I just want to say that I had begrudgingly prepared myself for group improv, but not _that_ ,” he says, unable to stop a smile from creeping across his face.

Patrick is quietly, hesitantly smug, and David has to admit it’s a very attractive look on him. “So you liked the surprise?”

“Okay, don’t go fishing for compliments, it’s not cute,” he says, putting a hand out as if to keep Patrick at arm’s length, but of course Patrick pulls an overdramatic sad face and David breaks, rolling his eyes, which makes Patrick laugh. “Fine, you’re... very talented.”

“Why, thank you, David, though I imagine it will be difficult to beat Twyla’s performance of ‘Edge of Seventeen’,” he says, peering over to where Twyla is humming to herself at the side of the stage, on deck. He cringes slightly. “Do you think she knows what it’s about?”

David doesn’t acknowledge that with a response, because honestly, Twyla singing an extremely long song about murder as an overly preppy cover sounds about right to him. “How did you even know I love that song?” he asks, still feeling—and looking, he’s sure—in awe of all of it, not least of all at the triumphant grin on Patrick’s face as he turns back to him.

“You said you listened to it nonstop after your first slumber party when you were ten,” he supplies easily, as if it’s not even a question.

“That was two weeks ago. You _listened_ to that rant?” David asks, honestly flabbergasted. He’s pretty sure it had been a good twenty minutes on how Tina Turner doesn’t get enough respect these days, just on a random Tuesday afternoon when the shop was slow. He’s also fairly certain he had been doing it a) just to see how long Patrick would let him get away with it, and b) how long Patrick could hold out before he laughed.

“I did,” Patrick answers, voice and smile going slightly softer, and David is still gaping when Patrick leans in and kisses him.

David lets himself sink into it and doesn’t think about who might be looking at them. He lets himself pretend this is just for them, that is moment is real, smiling tentatively against Patrick’s lips.

 

//

 

Three months in, David would say things are going pretty well. There was a questionably large anniversary cookie that Patrick sent just to ruin David’s life (and that his whole family lost their fucking minds over), but other than that, he’d actually say it’s been… _fun_.

They’ve settled into a bit of a routine now. He stays over at Patrick’s two or three nights a week, and it’s nice for reasons beyond just getting out of the motel. Patrick cooks for them both, David picks the wine and the movie, and they spend their evenings talking and laughing and David honestly finds himself looking forward to them every time.

He’d even bought better sheets. David didn’t say anything about them, but he did notice them, and was impressed by the thread count. Every time he thinks of them, he mentally crosses his fingers it wasn’t because of his dumb throwaway joke the first night he stayed there. But also thinks, in his heart of hearts, that if it was, that would be kind of weirdly sweet.

There have been a couple times when he’s woken up with Patrick curled around him, but he’s tried not to think about that. He’s pretty sure it’s a body heat thing. Or a soft sweater thing. Anyway, when it happens, he always slips out of bed to get dressed before Patrick’s awake so he doesn’t have to be embarrassed about it.

He thinks Patrick’s been on the same page about how everything’s going, or at least until one morning he gets to the shop on time— _for once_ —and Patrick just isn’t there.

Which just doesn’t happen.

He calls him immediately, and Patrick doesn’t pick up.

Which, again, just doesn’t happen. David had told himself not to panic immediately, but he’d freely admit that he’s panicking now.

Did he up and take off in the middle of the night, deciding it was all too much? That he couldn’t lie anymore? That getting back with Rachel was actually the sensible move? And what’s David going to do about the store, he doesn’t understand _any part_ of Patrick’s job, and oh god, all the weird pride his family had about the three month mark is going to make this really hard to explain to them.

He tries him one more time just in case, and this time he answers, sounding groggy and disoriented. “David?”

“Oh thank god, you’re alive.”

Patrick groans into the phone. “Barely. Fuck, what time is it?”

“10:05 AM. And while we’re talking about that, please note for the record I was here on time… ish. Anyway, are you okay?”

“Sorry, god, I didn’t sleep well last night, but I can be there in like, half an hour—”

A crease forms between David’s eyebrows against his will. “Wait, why didn’t you sleep well? Does it have to do with why you sound like death?”

“Thank you, David, I appreciate that,” he replies, sighing, and David can already hear him getting out of bed, getting ready. “I don’t know, something hit me yesterday... My whole body just feels like shit all of a sudden. I went to bed early last night in hopes it would all go away but—”

“Um, okay, stop?” David says, feeling slightly unsure of himself but following his instincts. “I think you should go back to bed again, actually.”

“No, seriously, I just overslept but I’m sure I’ll bounce back, it’s not a big deal. Besides, we’re supposed to do inventory today—”

“Let me try that again—I forbid you from coming in,” he attempts, wincing at the words as soon as they’re out because he knows he doesn’t really have the authority to carry it off. But he knows Patrick, and he knows he’s the kind of person who needs hard boundaries about work-related things.

The background noises on Patrick’s end stop. He half laughs. “You _forbid_ me?”

“Yes?” David tries, and it comes out as a hesitant question but the word stands. “Look, I know you don’t want to hear this, but it sounds like you might have the flu, if you’re coming down with something I don’t think standing around in the store for seven hours is going to help, that’s all.”

“I’m not getting the flu,” he says reflexively, but then Patrick is quiet a moment, and the fact that he’s not immediately fighting it lets David know he’s right. “Are you sure you can handle the store by yourself all day?”

“Definitely,” David says, with slightly more confidence than he feels. Patrick is quiet again, which this time means he’s seeing through his bullshit.

“Okay, compromise—how about I take the _morning_ off and then I’ll check in around one and see how you’re doing?” he offers.

“How about you worry about resting and _I_ check in around one and see how you’re feeling?” David counters.

Patrick sighs and David knows he’s got him. “Okay, fine.” David smirks, and he doesn’t know why winning this makes him feel so amused.

The store is fairly quiet all morning, and honestly, he’s a little offended that Patrick didn’t think he could handle this. He’s just wondering what he should do about lunch around 12:30 when he gets some texts from Patrick.

**Didn’t think I could feel worse than this morning, but somehow I do  
Is the store still standing?**

David rolls his eyes before texting back.

 ** _no, i set fire to it for the insurance payout, this has been a long haul scam_  
** _**also you’re DEFINITELY not allowed to come in if you feel worse**_  
_**we can do inventory tomorrow**_  
_**or whenever you’re back**_

He puts his phone away, but then adds **_everything here is fine_** because he knows the way Patrick’s mind works and he doesn’t want to be mean.

It’s only a minute before his phone buzzes with Patrick’s response. **Glad to hear it. And whatever you say, boss. ;)**

David can’t help but smile dopily at the fucking emoticon and oh god, two years ago he would have found that particular texting affectation straight-up horrifying, but something about it just fits Patrick’s adorably dorky personality and makes it feel kind of perfect. His phone vibrates again.

**Also, I know we had planned for you to come over tonight, but given the circumstances we should reschedule for some other time this week**

And oh, all the inexplicable happy dopiness leaves David all at once in a way he wasn’t expecting at all. He didn’t realize just how much he looked forward to those nights until now, and the prospect of heading back to the motel by himself to sleep sounds distinctly depressing.

He feels a little deflated for the rest of the day, glaring at his dumb, already packed overnight bag sitting in the corner, silently sulking. But then the shop hits a slow patch in the hour or so before closing, and he gets to thinking.

Patrick hasn’t lived here long. He has some friends, but definitely not an especially extended network, and he doesn’t have any family in the area. He lives alone. He’s terrible at relaxing for the life of him. And now he’s sick.

And David has an idea.

 

//

 

At 5:40, he’s outside Patrick’s door with his overnight bag and a large takeaway container of soup from the cafe. He feels slightly presumptuous showing up here—he was kind of uninvited, after all, but all that evaporates when Patrick opens the door.

“David,” he says, sounding genuinely surprised but also smiling slightly. He narrows his eyes. “Didn’t you get my text?”

“I did,” David nods, nodding emphatically and pushing past him slightly into the apartment. “I did get it, but I also decided it was stupid.”

Sure enough, spread all over Patrick’s kitchen island are spreadsheets, and there’s a draft of some kind of grant letter open on his laptop. David spins around to face him. “Are you even _trying_ to get better?” he demands as he busies himself, pushing everything to the side, throwing it all into haphazard piles he knows Patrick will complain about later and pulling out bowls.

“I thought since I wasn’t at the store the least I could do was try and get ahead on some paperwork,” Patrick manages, his voice all croaky. He’s holding onto the chair in front of him like he barely has the energy to stand up. His cheeks are flushed, his hair slightly sweaty against his forehead, and even though he’s in pajamas, a robe, and slippers, Patrick can see the way he’s shivering.

David shoots him a glare and points at the chair, ordering him with his eyebrows to sit. Patrick listens, for once, and David pushes the bowl and spoon in front of him before turning around to put the kettle on the stove. Patrick has one of those old fashioned ones because he likes that kind of thing, which David won’t admit he thinks is actually kind of nice.

“What are you doing?” Patrick asks, still sounding pitiful.

“Making you tea,” David responds, pulling the box easily from the cupboard where he already knew it was. Patrick had made them some when David insisted on introducing him to Downton Abbey. But maybe he’s forgotten, because his eyes go big and David says, “Yes, I know how to make tea, and buy soup, and a simple ‘thank you’ would be fine instead of the constant surprise.”

“Sorry,” Patrick says, raising his hands in a show of innocence. “Just, this doesn’t really seem like your kind of thing.”

“I had some practice with Alexis when we were teenagers. I don’t know if you would guess this about my mother, but she’s not exactly great with germs,” David says, and Patrick smiles politely so as not to show surprise. “Anyway, obviously we eventually outgrew Adelina, but after Alexis got mono for the third time I kind of had it down to a science.” It goes without saying he doesn’t do it for many people, and so David doesn’t mention that he never really had any friends close enough for it to come up, let alone romantic partners.

“You’re good at it, though,” Patrick says softly before he takes another sip of soup. Then he looks at David through his lashes, which honestly makes David blush himself. “So thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” David answers softly, giving him the slightest smile before looking away.

“And this is good soup,” Patrick says after a beat, in a slightly brighter tone, like he’s trying to change the subject to something a little less personal. “I don’t think I’ve seen it on the menu before?”

“The only thing I know about it is that Twyla claims it saved her best friend’s life when she was a kid,” he admits, and Patrick’s face is a mixture of surprise and impressed. “Okay, don’t get too excited, halfway through the story it became obvious that the best friend was actually a baby calf, so.”

Patrick is a little more cautious with the soup after that, which David has to admit is probably a smart decision.

After he’s encouraged Patrick to eat and have a couple glasses of juice, David forces him to bed. He even fetches extra blankets and pillows, a glass of water, and some painkillers just in case, setting them all up on his bedside table.

“David?” Patrick asks. He has some color back in his face now, though he still looks like he needs a good full 24 hours of rest.

“If you’re about to ask me if you’re clear to come into work tomorrow, I am going to scream.”

“No,” Patrick says, smiling indulgently. “But when you were supposed to stay over today, I was going to ask you something.”

David’s heart skips a beat, mind running away for a second, and then he immediately feels like an idiot. Of course it isn’t _that_ , what’s wrong with him? He doesn’t trust himself to speak, just nods.

Patrick clears his throat. “There’s this small business weekend conference in Elm Valley in a few weeks, and I was wondering if you would go with me?”

David relaxes slightly, “Oh—yeah, yeah of course, if it’ll be good for the store. Mhm.”

Now Patrick winces, and David is confused. “It will be, I promise, but it’s not just that. It’s… I know a bunch of people I knew from high school will be there and it would probably be good for the ah, whole Rachel situation, if I was there with someone. It’s basically an unofficial reunion.”

“Oh,” David sighs, and god, he’s going to be playing fake-boyfriend to a bunch of people Patrick knew in high school? It feels kind of high-stakes, like he could totally blow it, but Patrick’s looking at him with this half apologetic, half hopeful expression and his eyes are glassy from being sick and… He looks utterly pathetic, but there’s something in David that just wants to take care of him, to make him smile. Honestly, it’s somewhat worrying. “Yeah, um. Sure, I could definitely do that.”

Patrick smiles at him, slow and sweet, catching David’s hand and giving it a squeeze. “Thank you, David.”

“It’s nothing,” David replies, smiling slightly himself, but Patrick shakes his head.

“It’s not, and neither was tonight,” he says, so earnest it’s hard for David to bear. Patrick clears his throat and removes his hand. David tries to stay super still, not let anything show. “You should go home before you catch this. I _promise_ I won’t come in tomorrow unless I get the go-ahead from you.”

David lets his small smile turn into a smirk. “At least you’re learning,” he says, and Patrick gives a weak, sick laugh.

He turns out the lights and closes the bedroom door, leaving a small crack. He knows Patrick told him to go back to the motel, but regardless, he makes himself comfortable on the couch, pulling off his shoes and grabbing the blanket slung over the back of it.

He settles in. He knows he’ll get chewed out for this in the morning, but he’ll just lie and say he fell asleep scrolling through his phone while he was waiting for Patrick to doze off, and Patrick will forgive him because he’s a soft touch.

He just wants to be here. He knows it seems silly, but. Just in case.

 

//

 

Despite what Patrick told him leading up to the conference, it’s not until they’re checking into the hotel that David really gets a sense of what the whole thing is going to be like. There’s way more people than he expected, and they’re all milling around the hotel bar, seemingly comfortable like they’ve all known each other for years.

“Have you come to this before?” he asks Patrick, just out of curiosity if he’s going to be the only stranger in the room, slightly anxious but determined not to show it.

“Just once,” Patrick admits, gathering up his bags again and starting toward the elevator. “But mostly it’s the high school thing. Some people get really into it and come every year,” he explains.

David nods, saying nothing. Patrick takes his hand, nudges his shoulder. “Hey,” he says, waiting until David turns to look at him. “You’re gonna be fine, don’t worry.”

David swallows hard, shakes his head. “It’s not that,” he lies. “I was just thinking I should change shirts before we head down for the mixer. It looked like there was more of a collared shirt vibe.” Patrick smiles, but kindly does not call him out on any of it.

He does change and lay out his skincare routine in the bathroom while Patrick gets them settled in. He’s the kind of person who puts their suitcase up on those holder things, all organized, just like David knew he would be. David’s own bag is thrown by the foot of the bed unceremoniously, where it will likely stay all weekend.

When he emerges, there’s something on top of it. He walks over, picking it up cautiously, slightly confused.

It’s his sweater.

He hadn’t taken it out of his bag, which is still zipped up—in fact, now that he thinks of it, he hasn’t seen this sweater in a while. He turns to Patrick, a question in his eyes.

He looks up briefly from where he’s sat on the bed, tying his shoes (he’d brought nice ones for the weekend that David had never even seen before, where has he been hiding them!). “Oh yeah, I meant to tell you, I brought the one you left at my house last week. I thought you might forget to pack one and then be cold here. I never sleep well in hotels so I thought you might be even worse about it,” he says, casual, concentrating on the task in front of him.

David is still holding the sweater in both hands, looking down at it like maybe _it_ has the answers. He doesn’t get it, he doesn’t get how Patrick does it—how he knows him so well and fills in his gaps so easily, so naturally. Of course David forgot a sweater to wear to bed. And of course Patrick remembered one, because that’s the kind of person he is. Not just kind, not just thoughtful, but the kind of person who brings along someone’s extra sweater just on the off-chance he might need it. The kind of person who goes out of their way for someone.

“Wow, um, thank you,” he says, softly, turned away so David can’t see the slightly awed, slightly enamored look on his face, and he has to put it down before he spends one second longer holding it like some kind of gesture or trophy or signal.

“No problem,” Patrick says easily, without a second thought. “Are you ready?”

 

//

 

The night kicks off with a mixer and “heavy hors d'oeuvres,” which, personally, David would like to ban as a trend. There is no amount of mini-meatballs and caprese skewers that can reasonably substitute for a full dinner. He’s already mentally composing a pitch to give to Patrick about why they need to order room service tonight, and oh god, that just makes him hungrier because it’s been literal years since he’s had room service and he’s missed it so much.

He discovers Patrick is a good date to bring to these kinds of things. Even though he does occasionally get dragged off by an overzealous high school friend who wants to introduce him to their new boyfriend/girlfriend/fiance, he doesn’t let himself gets sucked in and always returns to David’s side after a few minutes. Which is, honestly, so sweet. David definitely doesn’t need it, of course—he’s been to enough identical, tedious New York parties that he could small-talk with strangers his way out of a paper bag. He’s already really bonded with a woman named Pam over their mutual dislike of macarons as a choice of dessert (if you’re going to be a dessert, be satisfying!).

But he would be lying if he said it wasn’t more fun with Patrick around. Patrick does make sure David has all the good gossip about who used to date in high school, who hates each other now, who got caught fucking in the supply closet back in the day. He delivers it all in a low voice so David has to lean in to hear him and also pretend they aren’t laughing, which he thinks is probably doing really well for their image as a couple.

He introduces David as his boyfriend and business partner to everyone they run into that he knows, which is both thoughtful and slightly thrilling. His friends and acquaintances are mostly super nice and genuinely concerned that he sort of disappeared off the face of the earth recently. And David’s impressed with Patrick’s responses—he doesn’t seem to be embarrassed at all to admit he’s living in Schitt’s Creek and working at a tiny general store when he used to be working an upright, dependable corporate job and making considerably more (which, honestly, is pretty brand new information to David). Most everyone seems too classy to ask about Rachel, and they only get a couple brow raises at the mention of them as a couple. However, David knows people well enough to see how baffled they are by how much is different for Patrick now, but everyone seems to know this isn’t the place to get into it.

Except for Jared.

David sets his eyes on him from across the room in the _worst_ possible way. He seems to be the only one not even making an attempt at business casual, rolling up to their little conversational group in a bomber jacket over a plain black tee and _obnoxious_ mirrored sunglasses, and jeans that David would say he bought distressed if not for the oil marks smeared on them. He _reeks_ of the most basic cologne, and he has this cocky swagger about him, more appropriate for walking into a shitty club than a regional small business conference.

“Brewer!” he calls, and Patrick turns, something in his posture deflating when he sees who it is.

“That’s Jared Walls,” he mutters. “He went to our high school, he runs a car repair shop now. Fair warning, he’s kind of the worst.”

“Oh trust me, I already gathered that,” David mutters back, morphing his expression into a sweet smile as Jared approaches them.

“Hey, Jared,” Patrick says, shaking his hand, but Jared pulls him in for what looks like a too-hard clap on his back. “Wow, it’s been a while.”

He doesn’t sound genuine, he sounds _fake_ , he doesn’t sound like the Patrick David knows and he already hates it.

“This is my boyfriend David,” he says as he pulls away, stepping in close to David. “He’s also my business partner at our store, Rose Apothecary.”

David extends his hand, but Jared doesn’t take it—just looks him up and down with inscrutable eyes. “Wow, Patrick, never would have guessed,” he mutters as he finally does step forward to shake David’s hand, though not making eye contact.

“Nice to meet you, too,” David says pointedly, something stinging in his chest. He’d gotten kind of used to not getting a reaction from anyone in Schitt’s Creek, which had always been a little bit surprising, but he figured maybe that was just his preconceived biases of small town people being proved wrong. But nope, it still hurts to be looked at like that. Like an experiment. Or a freak.

“Sorry,” Jared says, his tone actually not sorry at all. “I just mean, if you’d known him in high school! I could tell you some stories about Patrick and Tara Hoffman under the bleachers—”

Patrick flushes, but it’s not the happy, teased flush David’s used to seeing. He looks genuinely mortified, like he wants Jared to stop before this becomes even more of a train crash.

“Anyway!” he says, false cheeriness in his voice. “How are things with _you_ , Jared?”

Jared shrugs the question off. “You know, the same, nothing ever changes.” His voice is completely uninterested, but then he brightens, something a little bit scary and mean in his look. “But _hey_ , what’s this I hear about _you_ , Patrick? Settled down in Shitty Creek, have we? Must be at rock bottom, what the hell were you thinking?”

“Wow,” David says with an obviously false laugh. “Shitty Creek. Never heard that one before!”

Jared claps Patrick on the back, deaf to David’s hints, and David’s feels his hackles go up at the touch. Not in a possessive way, just because Patrick looks so visibly uncomfortable and almost defeated. Which is not a word he generally associates with Patrick.

“Seriously dude, what the hell could be so great about Schitt’s fucking _Creek_? I don’t know how you could have even moved down there after that time we drove down to take pictures with the sign junior year. Remember, we drove through the downtown area and it was so _bleak_. What were there, two stores?” Jared huffs a confident laugh into his beer bottle before taking a long swig, and David grinds his teeth.

“Funny you should say that, because the downtown area is actually really picking up, actually, and it’s been good for all the small businesses—” Patrick tries, about to spit out statistics like this is a pop quiz instead of an obvious attempt at a put-down, and David tries not to cringe out of secondhand embarrassment. He’s trying so hard and David doesn’t know why, doesn’t know why he’s not just ignoring this asshole or telling him off. It’s not like Patrick to take bullshit, but it doesn’t feel like David’s place to step in here when there’s obvious history he doesn’t know about.

Jared chuckles darkly, cutting him off. “Whatever man, save the nerdy statistics for tomorrow, okay? I’m going to need a good few drinks before I can handle that side of you.”

He shakes his beer bottle, stepping away, thank god. “Hey, I’m gonna get a refill real quick. I’ll round up some of the guys and we can all recount that time you lost us all the district championship for your boyfriend.”

David winces, and Jared laughs, an edge of meanness to his voice, but only enough that he could still feasibly claim he was kidding. It’s sinister, that kind of toeing-the-line cruelty, and David’s had enough experience with it to know he doesn’t want any more.

“Um, can we please not?”

“Absolutely,” Patrick sighs, taking David’s hand and leading them across the room. David doesn’t know who these people are either but they have kind, welcoming smiles, and honestly, David would take Roland Schitt over Jared fucking Walls right now.

 

//

 

“Some of your friends are a little more… intense than I thought they would be,” David says once they’ve gone back to the room for the night, trying not to sound judgemental. He’s strategically applying his nightly Korean skincare routine so he doesn’t have to make eye contact with Patrick when he says it.

To his surprise, Patrick chuckles. “You mean Jared?”

“Yes!” David exclaims, feeling free to let his confusion show now. “What make him _like this_? Did you mortally insult him in another life? Does he owe you his first-born or something?”

Patrick shakes his head, still smiling. “No, thank god. I mean… I don’t know. The same thing that always happens. We used to be close and then we just grew apart.” He shrugs, sitting casually down on the bed in his tank top and boxer shorts, facing David.

“Yeah, I got that, but why?” David persists. “Because he still seems to be holding onto whatever it is _real_ tight.”

Patrick sighs, not out of frustration, more sheer exhaustion. “We played baseball together growing up and all the way through high school. He got to be kind of a bully the older we got, but you know—small towns, you kind of stick together just from like. Inertia or something.”

David doesn’t really know, and normally he would quip about it, but Patrick’s being so honest and David wouldn’t interrupt him for anything right now. He feels so strangely hungry for every little detail he’s willing to share about his past, and it’s kind of a new feeling. He can’t remember ever really caring with someone before.

“Anyway, when we got older, I got a scholarship to school and he didn’t, I had a girlfriend and he didn’t, I got better grades than he did... I don’t know, just turned into some kind of competitive, inferiority complex thing? Like, all he really had was that he was better than me at baseball at that point. So that’s what he liked to dig at me about.” Patrick scrubs a hand over his face. “But then things kind of fell apart. I turned down my dream school and my scholarship, Rachel and I kept breaking up, and I ended up at community college at the last minute while he was off at state school. So in his mind, he won now, I guess.”

He shrugs, like it’s no big deal, but meanwhile David is gaping.

After a second he remembers he shouldn’t be so offended on Patrick’s behalf over a years-old grudge he has no part in, and tries to look like he’s concentrating extra hard on applying his moisturizer evenly so he doesn’t seem too nosy. “Wait, why didn’t you go? Why did you end up at community college?”

Patrick shakes his head slightly, stuttering. “I—I don’t know, it just didn’t feel _right_. I still can’t really explain it right. I just didn’t feel like me, I felt like I was going through the motions of someone else’s life, you know? Like, I didn’t want to go off to a huge school and do law like my family wanted justbecause it was safe, and then drift through and be miserable. And I didn’t want to be with Rachel then, either, really… it just felt like. Work.”

He meets David’s eye for a quick second, something like panic settling in. “Not that I think relationships aren’t _work_ , obviously. But I just—I didn’t feel like myself in it. Does that make sense?”

David nods, a tight feeling in his chest. Of course he knows that feeling, the way it can make you go crazy. How trapped you can feel, like everything inside of you is telling you to run and you don’t know why, because it’s not like what you’re in is terrible compared to what other people have to deal with, but it just doesn’t feel like you, and somehow you can’t breathe.

“So I just changed everything,” he replies easily. “A shock to the system. And it kind of worked, I mean, obviously the Rachel thing didn’t stick, but community college, the freedom to find out what I wanted to do and what actually excited me, what I wanted to do with my life… that was almost enough.”

He shrugs like it’s nothing, and David doesn’t get it at all, the casualness. His heart is in his throat at Patrick’s explanation, he sees so much of himself in it, and in that second he hates Jared more than he had the whole time he was actually in his presence. He gulps. “Does Jared know all that?”

Patrick shakes his head. “We really didn’t talk much after I turned the money down.”

David nods, sharp, and Patrick’s look morphs, becomes unbearably kind. “Look, David, it’s fine. It’s all water under the bridge at this point.”

David shakes his head, quiet but determined as he re-packs his bag of toiletries. “That’s not right,” he insists. “He shouldn’t get to treat you like shit for doing what was right for you. Why did you even hang out with him for so long after he started to become such a jerk?”

“I don’t know,” Patrick says, honesty coloring his voice. “He wasn’t perfect, obviously, and being his friend wasn’t always easy or fun. But he was loud, and he got so much attention. So at least people were always looking at him, and not me.”

He kind of laughs, almost self-deprecating in a way he kind of never is, and David’s heart breaks. Patrick meets his eyes, and he must see something there, because he gets up and steps forward, catching David’s hands in his own. That’s the downside of spending so much time together—he can now tell when David is stalling, or nervously fiddling, and always goes out of his way to soothe him. “Look,” he says, face unbearably kind. “Maybe you’re not the only one who had kind of shitty friends before, okay? But it’s not a big deal, we’re not close anymore, and even more than that… he’s not worth it, you know?”

And he does. He gets that Patrick is the bigger person and wouldn’t want to screw up a conference, or make anyone uncomfortable for personal reasons, ever, but David isn’t that person. He doesn’t really have a problem standing up for himself, or making his annoyances known.

But he nods, because Patrick’s right. It’s not even his fight, and he needs to stay out of it. Still, he feels his perspective shift at the knowledge that Patrick could ever have had friends that were less than amazing, less than the kind, loyal, lovely person he is. “Yeah,” he agrees. “Sure, yes.”

Patrick nods, like he’s taking it as a mutual understanding the conversation is over, and climbs under the sheets. David follows, a little slower, and just as Patrick moves to turn the light out, he suddenly can’t help it, he needs to say it even though he knows Patrick already knows, not to mention the fact it probably means next to nothing coming from him. “You _do_ deserve better than that, though.”

Patrick turns to face him, his expression soft and touched. He doesn’t say anything for a minute, and then murmurs, “You too, David.”

David shakes his head and clears his throat, blushing hard. He wants very much for this not to turn this into a moment. He doesn’t think he could emotionally handle that. He shifts so his back is to Patrick, squeezing his eyes shut. “Goodnight, Patrick,” he murmurs, and it’s a long second before the room plunges into darkness.

 

//

 

The morning gets off to a shaky start when they come downstairs for the complimentary continental breakfast (no cinnamon buns, but they _do_ have a waffle maker and he makes a mental note to petition his dad to get one for the motel). Patrick is focused on spreading cream cheese onto his bagel when David sees a familiar looking redhead enter through the doors in the lobby, and he feels himself go speechless.

“Um,” he manages, articulate as ever, tugging urgently on Patrick’s sleeve.

Patrick doesn’t acknowledge him. David keeps tugging.

“What are you _doing_ , Dav—” he asks, then immediately cutting himself off as he turns around and sees.

Everything in his face goes slack because there is Rachel, texting over by the elevators, clearly waiting for someone. They both watch in silence as a guy comes over in what David must admit is a very nice suit, kissing her quickly before they both head in the direction of the ballroom, where today’s opening is.

“Are… are you okay?” David asks, wincing slightly.

Patrick nods, jerky. “Uh, yeah. Wow. I think, um. I think that was Mike. He went to our high school too, and he runs some kind of farm-to-table restaurant now?” His voice sounds higher than normal, clearly uncomfortable.

David nods. He kind of wants to ask a million questions about all of it, but he knows that wouldn’t be helpful at the moment. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” he says instead. “I mean, this whole thing is big enough that you’ll barely have to interact.”

“Uh huh,” Patrick says, sounding skeptical.

Of course, this is all shot to hell when they walk in to take their seats] and they nearly bump right into Rachel and Mike.

“Oh, my god!” Rachel explains, flushing immediately. “Patrick! I, I didn’t think you’d come.”

Patrick shrugs, awkward and helpless. “I wasn’t expecting you either, Rachel, but it’s nice to see you.”

“Yeah, um. I just came to support Mike, but I could only make it down this morning, you know. With my class and all.” David vaguely remembers Patrick mentioning that she teaches third grade, and honestly, he can kind of see that. She has that pure, hometown vibe, and for a second David can picture Patrick’s future with her so perfectly. The beloved small-town schoolteacher and the one-time varsity champ who now has the corner office, 2.5 kids, white picket fence, the whole shebang. He swallows hard.

Mike doesn’t seem to sense the extremely tense vibes, or at least he doesn’t seem to care about them the way David does, and leans in to offer Patrick a handshake. “Hey, man! Good to see you again, it’s been ages! How are you?”

“I’m well, Mike, thanks,” Patrick replies, looking slightly embarrassed by the whole interaction. Rachel is practically squirming. Mike is still unfazed.

“And… sorry, I don’t think we’ve met?” he asks David, extending his hand.

“Oh—this is my business partner and boyfriend, David Rose,” Patrick says, stepping in closer to David and putting his hand on the small of his back. David represses a shiver.

“Nice to meet you both,” he says, mentally trying to channel his mother’s sort of warm condescension, all while catching the way Rachel is looking at him out of the corner of her eye like she’s trying not to. He’s played that game before, he could spot it a mile off. But Mike is smiling at him easily, with perfectly white teeth, completely at ease and with a very good handshake, so David’s just going to roll with it. “I hear you run a locally sourced restaurant?”

Mike visibly perks up, as if he wasn’t already preppy enough, excited to talk about his business. “Yes, it’s called Dinner Bell! You guys should come out sometime, our seasonal menu right now is insane—”

“Sorry, we should get to our seats,” Rachel says, cutting him off, all flustered, pushing Mike away towards the back of the room before David can start to daydream about some kind of ethically raised seared ribeye with cabernet bordelaise and homegrown grilled vegetables, which is maybe for the best. But Patrick looks frustrated by the whole encounter, letting out a deep sigh.

“Off to a great start,” he mutters under his breath, heading to claim two chairs on the far opposite side of the room.

 

//

 

The conference panels actually turn out to be a lot more interesting than David anticipated. Some of this stuff is really helpful and applicable, and David finds himself writing stuff down in his Moleskine notebook, even though he knows Patrick’s going to tease him later about taking notes when he whined all week about how boring all lectures are.

They bargain that if David goes to the small business branding workshop by himself while Patrick takes a break, then David doesn’t have to go to the one on government grants, which is honestly a fucking godsend. He’d already sat through the one on taxes and spent most of it in whispered gossip at the back with Pam, trying to pump her for details about high school Patrick.

“A capella club?!” he’d exclaimed at one point, forgetting to be quiet, because he just couldn’t even handle that bombshell. Pam had dissolved into silent giggles and Patrick had glared at him from across the room.

Or at least, attempted to. It really did look fond, though.

They ate lunch with an assortment of Patrick’s friends who wanted to catch up: some sports people, a couple a capella friends, and friends from something called 4H which, David can’t figure out what kind of group that is exactly. Community service? Scouting? Farming? He can’t quite nail it down.

They’re super nice and inclusive, asking him questions about the store and seeming genuinely interested in his answers. He’s starting to get the feeling that Patrick may have been popular in high school. Well, maybe popular isn’t the right word… David can’t really see him being voted homecoming king. But well-liked, easily gravitating between cliques, friends across different groups, nice to everyone.

It makes him feel kind of warm and fuzzy inside in a way he can’t rationally understand or explain. It’s not like he knew Patrick in high school, it doesn’t make sense for him to feel— _pride_. Or whatever the hell this is.

To be fair, he can’t quell the low-level hum of anxiety from Rachel looking over her shoulder at them every couple of minutes. Or the way he feels like he has to constantly keep an eye on Jared, who’s telling some story unnecessarily loudly across the room. But overall, it’s good. He thinks he’s fitting in well. Patrick’s friends seem to like him, and honestly, he likes them. They might be pulling this off.

The rest of the panels are relatively uneventful compared to their snafus this last night and this morning. They’re all congregating for an early evening offering of light bites ( _ugh_ ) and drinks to culminate the event when somehow, Jared approaches, slinging an arm around Patrick’s neck.

“There you are, man!” he exclaims. “Thought we should get another chance to catch up before this shindig finishes!”

Patrick kind of squirms, uncomfortable, but clearly too polite to say no or come up with something else. Jared’s clearly already had a few, if the flush of his cheeks is saying anything, and David’s stomach sinks.

“Yeah, Jared, how did you like the panels?” he asks, threading his fingers subtly through Patrick’s own and tugging him closer, out of Jared’s space.

Jared shrugs, undeterred. “Eh. Not too much that was useful for the garage. But it’s cool. I come here more for the reunion aspect anyway. See if I can find some fresh tail,” He shoots David a cocky grin that makes David’s skin crawl, it’s the kind he can tell has been used on many a person and isn’t often told no. Shameless in the worst kind of way.

“David, how about you go grab us some drinks?” Patrick asks, pointed, looking at David like he’s trying to send him a message with his eyes. It’s probably because David is currently trying to murder Jared with his eyes, but he feels that’s warranted.

Thankfully, he does manage to find Pam at the (thankfully) open bar and drag her back with him, which he definitely needs, because Jared has wrangled up a couple other baseball people, and together the energy is just… a lot. Even from far away David can tell he’s dug himself in as the center of attention, and while some people seem amused and laughing, there’s more than a few slightly cringing faces.

“...And then, after all that, Patrick missed the damn ball!” he says, crescendoing in an obnoxious laugh, and David rolls his eyes as he hands Patrick his craft beer, taking a long sip of his wine to fortify himself. “Not much has changed, huh, Pat?” Jared asks, bumping him in the shoulder. “Still botching it when the pressure’s on?”

Patrick flushes down to his collar, eyes fixed on his shoes. “I wouldn’t say—”

“Hey,” Jared says all of a sudden, cutting over him, lighting up in a way that makes David nervous. “We should take bets! How much longer is Patrick gonna be in Schitt’s Creek before he goes running back to us all full speed?”

David feels his heart plummet and wonders if Jared was purposefully sent straight from his nightmares to make jokes about his private, worst possible fears in front of a crowd of strangers.

“Jared,” the guy next to him says, elbowing him slightly. “Maybe tone it down—”

“No, seriously! I give it three more months. Third time’s the charm, right? First from college, then from corporate, now from Crap City—”

“C’mon man, this is not okay,” Pam says, eyes darting around to everyone else.

“Well, I’d be stupid not to bet on a sure thing,” he replies, a glint of meanness in his eye as his looks at Patrick, an edge in his voice. “It’s happened before, it’ll happen again. Whenever the future starts to feel too real, whenever his life starts to look too good and perfect, he runs. Too bad some of us don’t have the luxury of that option.”

There’s a beat of awkward silence, and everyone is obviously feeling it. Patrick is standing next to him stock still, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. David’s never seen him so speechless, at an absolute loss for words like this. He can’t imagine anyone ever having been this hateful to Patrick, ever—everyone David knows loves him, and sure, Patrick has edges and can banter with the best of them, but this? This is a bitterness that’s been let fester, clearly mulled on, and no one seems to have any idea how to make it stop.

David, however. David has some experience with meanness, and bitterness, and hatefulness and bitchiness and long-held, inexplicable grudges. And he knows that best way to cut them off is to deliver some brutal honesty.

“...Okay,” he says decisively, setting down his glass assertively as he takes a step forward into the small circle that’s formed. “I think we’re done with this.”

He gestures casually at all of Jared as an indicator, and catches the way someone lets out a nervous, inappropriate chuckle. Jared looks like he just remembered David was there.

David doesn’t dare chance a look at Patrick.

“Dude, c’mon, your boyfriend can take a joke,” Jared protests, rolling his eyes.

“Oh, of course he can,” David agrees, nodding sarcastically. “Please let me know when you make one, because from where I’m standing, all I see is extremely lazy jabs and some posturing meant to hide thinly veiled resentments.”

Jared gapes at him for a minute before persisting. “Look, I get it, you weren’t there, you don’t get our sense of humor—”

David cuts him off. “Look. Jared. I’m going to give you some advice.” He puts his hand on Jared’s shoulder, all condescension, which he immediately shrugs off cooly in one motion.

He lets his voice go low and ice cold, absolutely devoid of emotion. It feels like flexing a muscle he hasn’t used in a while, and honestly, he hadn’t missed it. “Number one: maybe don’t talk about things from like a million years ago that you actually don’t know anything about. Number two: fixating on other people like this really just shines a spotlight on your own insecurities. It’s not cute. And number three: therapy. Fucking get some.”

Jared is still for a moment before he shrugs, faux-casual, heading toward the other end of the room. “Whatever. I don’t know why I’m even in the same room with some losers from Schitt’s Creek anyway.”

David turns to call after him. “Oh trust me, Schitt’s Creek wouldn’t even let your ass in the door!”

Pam lets out a low whistle. “Damn. He wasn’t playing and neither were you.”

David picks his glass up again and takes a sip, eyes still tracking Jared as he slinks over to the buffet table, head ducked down and posture all ahuff. “He should be thankful that I was only at about 40% there.”

He feels a hand on the small of his back and turns to Patrick, who is blushing and appears absolutely gobsmacked. “You shouldn’t have done that,” he murmurs, sounding awed. David is 98% sure Patrick doesn’t really mean that, that he knows letting someone talk to him that way is something David’s never going to stand by and watch. Or at least, he hopes he does.

David rolls his eyes but softly, not really meaning it. “Well, I just have a lot of experience with high school bullies so I thought it’d be best if I—”

Patrick leans in and kisses him, mid-sentence, and David’s train of thought is gone before he knows it. It’s slow and sweet and… kind of lingering as he pulls away, which is something they haven’t really done before. He’s either even better at acting than David already thought he was (which he would already describe as surprisingly good, for the record), or it means something else. But David can’t parse it here, with all these other people around. The look in Patrick’s eyes is soft and warm, and it feels like they’re in their own little world for a minute, which makes David feel kind of pleasantly fuzzy inside.

He thinks Patrick will say something, but he doesn’t.

David may come from a family full of excessively verbal over-communicators, but he thinks that maybe Patrick is teaching him the value of silence. Because right now, he doesn’t need words to know exactly what Patrick is saying.

There’s a tap on his shoulder, and as much as he doesn’t want to break Patrick’s gaze, he turns, removing himself from the embrace.

Something clenches in his gut as his eyes sweep over cute little Rachel standing right there, looking hesitant but determined.

“Patrick,” she says. “Can I talk to you? In private?”

He turns to face Patrick, who’s wiping his palms on his jeans (a nervous habit David’s noticed before). “Um, yeah. Yes,” he amends, stepping forward to follow. He trails a hand across the small of David’s back as he leaves, unconscious, and David shivers.

 

//

 

The two of them slipped into an empty room, and David purposefully stationed himself on the other side of the space so he isn’t tempted eavesdrop. There hasn’t been any sign raised voices or yelling, which he supposes is good news for Patrick. Maybe a bad sign for him, though.

And he’s not counting the minutes by any means, but it has been half an hour and he’s starting to catastrophize in his head, even though he knows it’s ridiculous. It doesn’t matter how much logic disagrees, he can’t shake the intrusive thoughts hissing _they’re obviously getting back together, they’re probably reconciling right now and_ fuck, _what am I gonna do about the store when Patrick leaves town…_ and on and on and on until he feels slightly sick.

David tries not to exude too much nervous energy while he waits, doling out hugs and goodbyes on behalf of both of them as people start to trickle out. But the longer they’re in there, the more he worries, and eventually he ends up parked at the dessert table, having nervously wolfed down his third cupcake when Pam approaches him.

“Where’s Patrick?” she asks.

David nods at the empty conference room ahead of him, door shut. “Rachel asked if they could talk.”

Pam’s eyes widen playfully as she sidles up beside him. “Ah,” she says, as if that explains the icing on his fingers. “Been in there long, I guess?”

David nods too quickly, stomach queasy, and at this point, who’s to say if it’s from the situation or the sugar, really? But it has been an awkwardly long time, and what could they possibly be discussing for that long when they haven’t seen each other in months? Are they talking through the logistics of running away together? Is she calling him on this whole bluff, that she of all people can certainly tell when he’s in a fake relationship and now she’s worried about him?

“You know, you and Patrick make a nice couple,” Pam says, and it’s enough to jerk him out of his anxiety spiral. When he looks at her, she’s looking at him approvingly and maybe a little bit proud, and David can’t help but smile in response. “We’re not used to seeing him with anyone but Rachel, obviously, but it seems like he’s changed a lot since he left. For the better,” she says thoughtfully, nodding.

“What do you mean?” David can’t help but ask.

Pam gets this kind of far-off look in her eye. “He just seems more… comfortable, somehow. Don’t get me wrong, he was always popular and fun to be around. But no matter if it was sports or a capella or academics or social stuff—it always seemed like he was trying so _hard_. You could tell he was going to beat himself up for every little thing that didn’t go right.”

The image makes David frown on instinct. He’s never gotten that energy from Patrick, and it makes him sad to imagine.

“Honestly, we were a slightly worried about him when he left with so little warning,” she continues. “But it seems like little old Schitt’s Creek has done him good.”

“I hope so,” David admits, meaning it more than she knows. “I think it has a tendency to do that for people.” He can feel his fondness showing through, feeling kind of stupidly proud of that little town. He knew it could change someone like him, who clearly needed all the help he could get, but the fact that it’s touched Patrick for the better as well really means a lot to him.

“I think it helps that he clearly adores you,” Pam whispers, leaning in conspiratorially, grinning.

David’s stomach flips with delight, and then almost immediately plunges into guilt. It’s one thing to hear it from his family or Stevie, who obviously have a bias in what they see, but to hear it from someone who’s known Patrick for years makes him feel distinctly uncomfortable. He opens his mouth, honestly at a loss, but before he knows it Patrick’s there.

“Hey,” he sighs, moving in and kissing David lightly in hello. David can see Pam looking at them out of the corner of his eye, all _I told you so_ , and if he thinks about it for another second he’s going to start feeling sick.

“Hey. Um, are you okay?” he asks, voice low.

Patrick gives him a slightly quizzical look. “Yeah, I’m good,” he replies, laughing slightly before he holds his arms out to Pam. “It was so good to see you!” he crows as she moves in to hug him, laughing.

“You too, lovely boy. I’m glad you’re happier lately,” she replies, eyes darting to David and then back, giving him a wink.

Patrick’s grin just widens as he nods, looks modestly down at the floor. “Thanks. I really am.”

David spots Rachel on the other side of the room, inching around the crowd to Mike. She smiles at him, something slightly sad and subdued about it, but not angry, not devastated. His own smile is sweet and supportive, even encouraging as he takes her hand, and together they wrap up their conversation and make their way toward the exit. David gets the feeling they’re going to be just fine.

 

//

 

They end up in the hotel restaurant for an _actual dinner_ after the conference finishes. Most people ended up leaving altogether a few hours before, but it’s a longer drive to Schitt’s Creek so Patrick thought it would be smart to book them an additional night. David has no complaints.

They kicked off the meal with a bottle of wine to celebrate how well the conference went, and then that bottle was… efficiently finished, and then all of a sudden there was more wine and David isn’t clear on how it got there, but he’s rolling with it.

All their conversation feels easy and natural tonight, a verbal give-and-take with an undercurrent of fun that gives David butterflies in his stomach. It almost feels like they’ve stepped into another world, like they’re different people tonight, and they’re both just intoxicated with it. He doesn’t know if it’s the drinks, or the fact that they’re far away from home, or the way Patrick’s conversation with Rachel hopefully closed a chapter—but no matter what, David wants to drag it out for as long as possible before crashing back to reality.

“I still can’t get over the fact that you were a sports guy,” he says, mostly teasing, thrilling at the way Patrick looks at him. “Hockey _and_ baseball. How many trophies were there? How many letters on your fancy jacket?”

He laughs. “You’d have to ask my mother, she’s the keeper of that particular nostalgia collection. Do I not seem like a sports guy to you?” he asks, sounding genuinely curious.

David tilts his head, considering. “No, I can see it, this is just new information I’m trying to integrate with the guy I know and his propensity for spreadsheets,” he replies, all teasing smile.

“Oh my god, I’m so lucky you didn’t mention that to Jared.”

“You’re welcome. I’ll have you know I’m well known for my generosity and discretion. Though I regret to inform you, you now owe me one.”

Patrick narrows his eyes playfully. “I have to say, I don’t like the sound of that.”

David shoots him a mischievous look. “Why, don’t you trust me?”

“I plead the fifth on that one,” Patrick says, but his face is too fond and sweet and it belies his words.

“Okay, fine, I’ll pick a reasonable price,” David says, leaning forward. “You have to answer a question for me.”

“Shoot.”

David fidgets with the edge of the tablecloth, clearing his throat. “How do you feel after seeing Rachel today?”

He winces as soon as its out of his mouth, but he feels like he’s put enough effort into cheering Patrick up that this question hopefully can’t undo all of it. Patrick heaves a big sigh.

“I feel good, actually. Like we’re on the same page now, I guess? Obviously seeing her at the opening didn’t go very well, but we talked about everything this time. More than anything, she was really hurt that I left as abruptly as I did, and that I wouldn’t just tell her I’m in something new instead of dodging her texts and calls.”

Patrick shakes his head slightly, disappointed in himself, almost. “And she’s right, I guess. I wasn’t exactly being upfront and honest with her, after everything we’ve been through. I think it’s still hard for her to understand how everything between us could seem fine one day and just be _over_ the next. But I can’t explain—I can’t show her how hard it was for me to be that, how hard I was trying every day, just to seem together and normal when I felt so… I don’t know.”

He doesn’t have to say. David knows. He wants to reach out for Patrick’s hand, but he doesn’t.

“Anyway. At least we were both able to control ourselves and talk without interrupting each other or yelling this time. And the fact that she’s here with someone new probably helped us both.”

David nods understandably. “Do you know anything about him? Mike?”

Patrick shakes his head. “Not much. He was class secretary in high school? He always seemed nice. Steady. Dependable.” He shrugs. “I’d think he’ll be good for her. He’s what I thought I could be for her, really.”

There’s something contemplative in his expression, slightly melancholy but with a glint of clarity too, and David lets him have a moment to process that. He does seem to be lost in thought for a second before jumping back into the conversation. He’s less bothered about all of it than David had expected, much more so than he had at the store’s opening, so David decides to trust him and not prod at the subject any further.

“My turn,” Patrick says decisively, his voice bright and determined, and David squawks jokingly because that wasn’t what they agreed to, though he’s glad he hasn’t put a damper on their evening. “What were you like in high school?”

David shakes his head slightly, biting his lips to keep from smiling too hard as he looks up at the ceiling. He can’t say how glad he is that Patrick’s still in a good mood, still fun and eager to engage with him like this. “Can you picture, like, Crispin Glover’s hair in his heyday, plus layers upon layers of pacifier necklaces, and all-black garments with misguided neon details?”

Patrick tries very admirably not to laugh, but David can see his shoulders shaking with the effort. “No,” he finally answers, his voice audibly strained.

“Well,” David sighs happily, “I’m going to take this moment to be very grateful that you have a limited imagination, and that all our family photographs are currently inaccessible.”

“Do you think we would have gotten along?” Patrick asks, his sweet little face just glowing and god, David is such a goner.

And the thing is, the honest answer is no. David didn’t go out of his way to hang out with athletes at that point in his life—it was more scene kids and the overdramatic theater crowd.

The even more honest answer is all that, plus he probably would have jerked off at night thinking about kissing Patrick with his back against the lockers, picturing himself in the letter jacket instead of some blonde cheerleader type.

But he wants a kinder answer. A more hopeful one. He has a feeling this whole night is the end of this strange weekend fantasy they’ve engaged in, which has actually been so much more fun than anticipated, and he wants to live in it a little bit longer.

“Yes,” he finally says with a slow nod, feeling it pay off as Patrick’s smile blooms sweetly and slowly over his face. “Yes, in like a _High School Musical_ situation where the handsome jock joins the school’s spring production.”

“Mm,” Patrick agrees, playing along. “And who are you in this scenario?”

David shoots him a faux-offended look. “Sharpay Evans, obviously.”

Patrick laughs, and David knows it’s because he can see that accuracy in that. “And who’s Alexis in this little scenario? Gabriella?”

“Ugh, she wishes. She’s Ryan Evans and she knows it,” he says, rolling his eyes. “You seem _awfully_ interested in who your romantic interest is in this little scenario,” he teases. “Did you date a lot in high school? How many girls put on that letter jacket, exactly?”

David can see both the excitement and the slight nerves in Patrick’s expression and just feels so overwhelmed, so many conflicting feelings bubbling up inside him that he couldn’t say how he’s keeping them in. “I don’t know, like, three girls, maybe? Who am I talking to now, Barbara Walters?”

“Oh my god wow, three girls. A true Lothario.” David teases. He feels like the alcohol is hitting him; he definitely feels tipsier than he did just a few minutes ago and this is always the problem with these fruit wines, the way they come at you all at once.

“What, how many people did you date in high school?” Patrick asks, hungry to go toe-for-toe and maybe a little bit genuinely intrigued.

David laughs. “Oh, no. No no no no, no, no no no. Zero. No. Nope.” he says, shaking his head and laughing, not making eye contact.

Patrick’s jaw drops and that’s flattery, really. That’s all it can be: pure, shameless flattery. “What? Why!”

He shrugs, feeling exposed all of a sudden. “I don’t know! Did you not hear the part about the pacifier necklaces and the extremely misguided hair choices? I hadn’t hit my stride yet,” he tries, slightly defensive, fingering the sleeves of his shirtsleeves just for something to occupy his hands.

Patrick sits back, crossing his arms loosely in front of him. “Well, that’s their loss. You’re a good boyfriend,” Patrick says, looking at him with an easy, relaxed grin before he directs his attention to his wine glass.

David squirms a little bit at that comment. He feels almost… embarrassed.

Because he’s not. Like, he’s not awful or anything, he’s nice and all, but that’s just never who he’s been before. “You don’t know that,” he replies, voice pitched low.

Patrick looks at him incredulously, focusing his attention on him in a way that makes David want to squirm even more. “You are,” he insists, looking serious.

David shakes his head, looking away. “That’s… really sweet, but you just don’t have anything to compare it to. Boyfriend-wise, I mean,” he says. He doesn’t know why he’s doing this, why Patrick’s words make him feel so prickly, why he can’t just accept the compliment and move on and not fuck up a good thing.

On the upside, with the alcohol in him, Patrick doesn’t seem offended in the least, and is affably determined to argue his point. He sets down his wine glass with a carefully composed expression, one David has seen before when he’s about to argue the particular merits of composing yet another spreadsheet for the store, and David has to bite his lip to keep from grinning. “Well. Based on this weekend, I would say you’re a natural plus-one in a room full of strangers, you’re affectionate and sweet without overdoing it in public, and you make people feel warm and like—like they’re in on a private joke immediately, even though you’ve just met them. And… you stand up for people.”

He sets his eyes on David, quietly pleased but not quite smug. David holds his gaze, setting his hands deliberately in his lap, determined not to chicken out of this moment even as he feels the blush rising in his cheeks, already self-conscious for what he’s about to say. “Yeah, well. I’m not the kind of boyfriend who remembers to bring an extra sweater.”

Patrick’s grin is slow and gorgeous as it spreads across his face. “No. But you have other talents.”

It feels like they’re toeing the line of something, flirting a little more transparently than they have before, not to mention without an audience. It gives David butterflies in his stomach. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Well,” Patrick says, eyes all lit up with mischief, “You’re an excellent kisser.”

David lets out a shocked noise, something caught between a laugh and an exclamation. “Is that so?” Patrick nods in response, taking another pull of his drink, and David knows that move is a cop-out which makes him feel even more ridiculously fond. “I guess it’s worth mentioning that you’re not half bad yourself,” he shoots back.

Patrick laughs. “I appreciate that incredibly generous compliment, David, thank you.”

David nods charitably, over-exaggeratedly magnanimous.

The silence lingers just a beat too long and it feels like they both realize what’s happening at the same moment, that they’re not different people. It’s just the two of them, hours away from home and anyone they know, and they’re just Patrick and David, teasing each other over a candlelit dinner, making each other blush and laugh.

And no matter what else, that’s real. All of this is real.

“Hey,” Patrick says, face going serious as he clears his throat, sitting forward in his chair a little. “Can we try something?”

David tilts his head slightly with a small smirk, a sweet anticipation thrumming through him, like his body knows what’s coming even if he doesn’t. “Like what?”

“Let’s pretend,” he tries, “let’s pretend that we’re two guys at a conference who have never met before. Who’ve been flirting quietly all weekend, waiting to see if the other person is in this as much as they are… and then, at the end of the conference, they have dinner together and really hit it off?”

He looks slightly nervous as soon as he’s said it, and David can’t help but give him a reassuring smile. Does he actually think David would say no?

“Mm,” he agrees, nodding, playing along. “Just so I have a good sense of my character… how long would he wait before he invites this guy up to his room?”

Patrick’s eyes go slightly wide for a second and when he speaks, his voice is a little bit rough, like David’s caught him off-guard. “Uhhh, until now, I think,” he replies, and David laughs.

“Oh, _now_?” he repeats, grinning, and Patrick’s face has gone back to his easy, fond grin.

“I think so,” he says, faux-serious, as he stands up and puts some cash down on the table. He holds out a hand to David, which he takes, and they exit the restaurant giggling like kids, their hands still tangled together.

Patrick pulls him into the elevator and David follows. The doors aren’t even fully closed before he’s looped his arms around Patrick’s neck, and then he’s kissing him. Momentum sends Patrick back against the wall unexpectedly and they’re laughing into each other’s mouths, breath catching as the kiss deepens and becomes something else. A prelude.

The elevator dings and they stumble out, hands still clasped as they make their way a bit faster than normal down the hall. Patrick’s fishing for his keycard in his wallet and then the door is open and they’re inside, facing each other in the entryway of their hotel room and suddenly David feels almost unspeakably nervous, like all the bubby courage has evaporated out of him at once.

“Um,” he starts. “Are you sure about this?”

Patrick freezes, face falling. “What?”

David shakes his head. “No, not like that, just—you’re not going to regret this in the morning, are you?” he asks, all in a rush, and then winces at how pathetic his words sound now that they’re out of his mouth and not just bouncing around in his head. “Sorry, I just—”

“David,” Patrick says, stepping closer. “I promise you, I have wanted this for longer than tonight, it is not the wine, and I am not going to regret it in the morning.”

He takes David’s hands in his own, slow and careful, like he’s giving David a minute to process, to decide. “Okay,” he finally says, meeting his gaze. “Yes, um. Me too.”

Patrick smiles and leans in, does that thing where he keeps looking at David until he physically can’t anymore, can’t help himself from drinking him in until the last possible moment, and David thinks in the split-second before their lips meet, _Whoever gets to have this for real is going to be so lucky_.

Any other time that thought would feel like a punch in the gut for him, but it’s hard to feel anything but languid and desperate when Patrick is pressing closer until David’s back is up against the wall and he’s gasping into his mouth. And god, it’s almost too much for his brain to handle, because it’s just the two of them—it isn’t for practice and it isn’t for anyone else. And it’s _different_. David’s used to Patrick’s kisses being short, sweet… appropriate. Both of them slightly holding back. But there’s nothing Patrick’s holding back now and David’s stomach twists pleasantly at the thought.

“Can we—” Patrick manages in the one second he allows himself to break away, not even finishing his sentence before he’s kissing David again, and David mumbles “mhmm” against his lips and they’re maneuvering to the bed somehow, tripping over each other’s feet slightly but too caught up in the moment to care.

In his defense, walking backwards has never been one of his strong suits, and David flops down onto the bed in a way he knows is less than graceful, but Patrick looks him over and groans “Fuck,” low, like he’s blown apart. It makes David’s cheeks flush even more and he has to bite the inside of his lip to keep from smiling giddily at the way Patrick’s acting, like he _wants_ him. He straddles David’s legs, drawing him up for another kiss while his fingers fumble their way under David’s sweater, and well, that’s just not fair at all and David starts to undo his buttons with shaking hands.

Goddamn button-downs. Why is he fake-dating a guy who owns nothing but goddamn button-downs?

He pushes Patrick’s shirt off his shoulders and he shivers, which is fucking adorable, and David winces, takes a breath. “Cold? We can…” he gestures awkwardly at the sheets and pillows.

“Yes—no,” Patrick says, shaking his head like he can’t keep it straight. “Yes, bed, no, I’m not cold. It’s just you.”

He has no fucking idea what to say to that. It figures Patrick would be just as earnest and smooth in bed and oh god, how is David’s brain going to be able to process any of it?

He shakes his head like a reflex, short, lost for words and instead just gets them under the duvet, which at least has the advantage that Patrick won’t be able to see _too_ much of him at once.

But par for the course with Patrick, this is so unlike everything else he’s ever done, because with Patrick’s hands all over him it’s hard to feel anything but completely fucking sexy, and it’s almost like he forgets the twinge of self-loathing he normally carries in his shoulders. And he wouldn’t have expected this either, for the professed lack of experience Patrick has, but his hands are steady as he undoes the buttons and zip on David’s jeans. He’s kissing David’s neck, and then he’s biting lightly at David’s jawline and he doesn’t know if that’s what makes him gasp or the way Patrick curls his hand around him.

“ _Patrick_ ,” he chokes out, broken, smaller than he thought it would sound. Patrick swallows the sound up before he can get out anything else, twisting his wrist and getting into a rhythm.

David feels breathless and Jesus Christ, this is a fucking _handjob_ , he’s done things much more depraved and kinky and unusual and he’s never felt this desperately close to coming in his life. Embarrassingly close. Panting, he drops his head to Patrick’s shoulder and presses his lips quickly to his collarbone, taking a second to admire the way Patrick’s blush has spread halfway down his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut, opens them, letting out a helpless breath all at once as his toes curl and he comes between them.

His brain feels like mush for a moment before Patrick says “David,” in this beautifully needy voice. He pulls himself together to look up at him.

Patrick’s eyes are darker than he’s ever seen them, color high on his cheeks, and David tries not to smile, not even caring that he probably fails.

He grabs some tissues from the nightstand, hurriedly cleaning himself up before he rolls on top of Patrick, undoing his dumb bootcut jeans and pulling them off. He takes off his stupid dress socks (because he has made many questionable choices in his time but he refuses to fuck anyone in their _socks_ ) and then hooks his fingers under the waistband of Patrick’s boxers, pulling them down and off, nipping teasingly underneath his bellybutton.

Patrick tangles his fingers in David’s hair and pulls just slightly, enough for David to look up at him, and there’s so much emotion on his face that David might lose it right here—he’s looking at David like he’s everything.

“Sorry about your hair,” he says, face melting into a lazy, half-drunken grin that makes David go warm all over.

“You’re lucky that this is the one scenario in which I don’t care,” he throws back, smirking slightly before taking him into his mouth.

Patrick is either really responsive, or really sensitive, or both, but David can’t get enough of it. From the second he has his cock in his mouth Patrick can barely hold back, trying his adorable hardest not to buck his hips into it like the polite guy he is, and good god, David cannot believe they’re doing this. That Patrick is doing this with _him_.

He gives him everything, and if forced to swear on Mariah Carey’s life he would admit he’s showing off a little bit, pulling out every trick in the book this way. He wants to be the best Patrick’s ever fucking had, and he knows that’s ridiculous and selfish and it shouldn’t matter, but he does. Patrick’s got one hand in his hair, the other fisted in the sheets, and when David takes him as deep as he can Patrick arches and comes immediately.

When he’s finished, David pulls off and wipes his mouth demurely and looks up to see Patrick peeking at him from underneath where his arm is thrown over his eyes, chest still heaving, looking a little bit in awe. He offers David a hand, and David pulls himself up and shimmies back into bed next to him. Patrick draws closer to him immediately, like a magnet, reaching up to hold his face in one hand.

“David,” he starts, and then stops, distracted, starting again in a slightly more baffled tone as he looks down. “You’re still in your jeans?”

A laugh escapes David before he can help it, and he claps his hand over his mouth too late. Patrick, of course, is glowing like a fucking Christmas tree to have made this happen—an unguarded, full _laugh_ —and somehow still manages to look just the perfect amount of smug and oh god, David is so done for. “Yes,” he eventually manages, after he’s taken a minute to collect himself.

“That’s not fair,” Patrick says, plaintive.

“Yes, I will admit that,” David hedges, working up to it, “And I will go change into pajamas, but I need you to turn around so you don’t look at me too long.”

“Not a chance.”

“Okay,” he nods, resigned but physically unable to stop smiling. He’s capitulating earlier than he normally would have, but god, he feels fucking happy and maybe he’ll just sprint to the bathroom, it’s fine, Patrick can’t see that much if he moves fast. It’s probably a good thing that Patrick doesn’t know how much he could get away with right now.

When he comes back, Patrick has pulled his boxers back on but is seemingly too lazy for anything else, and David has to admit it’s a good look on him. He doesn’t say anything, just slides under the covers and Patrick reaches an arm out and David goes, easy, resting his head on Patrick’s chest.

Patrick huffs out a laugh into David’s hair. “I like the sweater,” he murmurs, and just two days ago that would have been a confusing, flirtatious joke, but now it’s just so unbearably sweet not just from the affection in his tone, but because he’s the one who remembered it in the first place.

David grins, wide and full in the dark where no one else can see. He is warmer than he thought he might be, and stupidly happy, falls asleep faster than he can remember doing in a long time.

 

//

 

The whole next day, David feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. He never thought he’d say it, but he’s fucking relieved to leave Elm Valley and head back to Schitt’s Creek.

He thinks Patrick’s feeling it too, the relief. He wakes David with a kiss that gets David’s stomach fluttering pleasantly first thing.

“Did you sleep better last night?” David asks, still rubbing at his eyes, groggy, while Patrick manages to inexplicably seem fully awake.

His brow furrows. “Better?”

David nods. “Yeah, you were tossing and turning a lot the first night. You said you didn’t sleep well in hotels, remember?” he prompts, and god, what was he thinking, he sounds like such a fucking pathetic stalker—but then Patrick’s smiling at him, brighter than the sun streaming in through the curtains. He leans in and kisses David again, something in it almost unbearably sweet, which David doesn’t quite get—but quickly turns into something rushed and desperate, and _that_ , he gets. Before he’s even fully conscious of what’s happening, the whole thing has turned into half-asleep fumblings that get them both gasping.

David flops back on the pillow afterwards, out of breath, with Patrick grinning at him smugly. He can’t help the wry smile that appears on his face in response. “Well, aren’t you a quick study,” he manages, and Patrick laughs out loud and licks into his mouth and David can taste himself on his tongue and…

Well. They manage to check out eventually.

It’s one of those perfect days where you can tell spring has finally decided to stick around. The skies are still slightly overcast and gray but the temperature is perfect, and they ride back down the county routes with the windows down. Patrick lets him coordinate the playlist and David picks only the best of the best—some Whitney, some Tina, some Beyonce, and of course, Mariah.

He feels dumb for thinking it, but with the music and way Patrick’s smiling and laughing with him, the way David can’t keep the stupid grin off his face, the way Patrick’s hand is hanging casually out the window and the wind in their hair… he feels like he’s in a montage from one of his favorite romantic comedies. It just feels like one of those perfect moments that he always thought only existed in those scripted, unrealistic universes—a moment he never really thought would have. He _knows_ the whole thought process is ridiculous and silly, but Patrick is laughing and applauds his overdramatic lip-sync rendition of “Emotions,” and thinks maybe he’s enjoying himself just as much.

He wills himself not to screw this up.

In a way, it almost feels like they cruise back into town different than who they were before. Than _what_ they were before. Patrick drops him off at the motel and catches his hand before he can get out, pulling him in for a sweet, slow kiss that only ends when David’s smiling too much to kiss him back.

“Come over for dinner tonight?” he asks, his voice pitched low and hopeful.

“Mmmm,” David hums, feigning indifference. “I’ll have to think about it.”

Patrick rolls his eyes fondly and shoves him out of the car with a smile. “I only dine at five-star establishments!” he calls jokingly as Patrick pulls away. He laughs as Patrick flips him off casually with a smile.

David watches until Patrick’s car isn’t visible anymore, then turns around and jumps a _mile_ when he sees Stevie staring at him from just outside the motel office door, mouth agape, not even pretending to hide her surprise.

“Fuck!” he yells, hand over his heart, heaving deep breaths as he tries to calm himself down. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

She approaches him slowly, eyes wide. “What _happened_ to you?”

David hurriedly runs a hand through his hair, trying to tame it from its windblown state. He’d honestly forgotten about it until now. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Stevie looks him up and down slowly with pointed eyes. “Who _are_ you? You look… almost… lit up from the inside,” she finally settles on, and David’s stomach flip-flops.

“Hmm, sounds like you’re seeing things,” he replies, sneering at her as he fumbles for his keys.

“I’ll say,” she drawls, crossing her arms. “Seems like you had a good weekend.”

Okay, he has no desire to do this. “It was fine, thank you,” he says shortly, finally getting the right key in the lock as Stevie raises her eyebrows at him. “And I’d love to discuss it, but I have things to do, so.” He manages to squeeze through the doorway with his bag and close it before she can follow.

David leans back against the door and sighs dreamily, eyes shut, allowing himself one last rom-com cliche before the giddy feeling inside him starts to calm down.

The moment is shattered by Alexis making a gagging noise from the other side of the room. “Oh my god _ew_ , David.”

 

//

 

He does stay at Patrick’s as requested, and tonight they do more than eat and drink and tease and laugh and flirt.

David hasn’t ever really had something like this, where he’s built something more onto something he already had with someone. Well, he did attempt that with Stevie, but it just didn’t work, collapsed upon itself with the weight of its own awkwardness.

Still, it’s outside his normal realm in the sense that he knows Patrick and he _likes_ him. He’s not used to it—he’s used to strangers he met in bars whose names he never got, or the hot, dumb boyfriends of acquaintances. But there’s something so satisfying about teasing Patrick, someone he knows… he feels so fucking good when he can make Patrick laugh, or surprise him with a smile. Like it means so much more with him.

This is like… it’s still them, but racketed up to 11. It feels stupidly good, and definitely addictive.

“Oh, um.” Patrick says at one point. He’s wiping down the counters as David does the dishes, wearing the huge yellow gloves he bought specifically for this task at Patrick’s, because there’s no way he’s fucking up his nail beds.

He waits for a second, then turns around when Patrick doesn’t continue. He watches him clear his throat.

“I just wanted to say, um. I know you don’t think highly of Jared, or whatever, but. I still wanted to say, I don’t run from things that feel too real. In my life.” He finally meets David’s eyes, something so steady and brave in his face as he stills. “I run from things that don’t feel right.”

David takes a breath. “Oh.”

Patrick nods. “Yeah, I mean, I know how it looks on the outside, but, just… from the inside, it seemed like an important distinction to make.”

David nods back, biting down on his lip so he doesn’t smile too hard. “It’s your life,” he murmurs. “You can make whatever distinctions you’d like.”

Patrick looks at him with something like relief and something like gratitude, and David feels another surge of the ridiculous, over-the-top happiness that’s he’s become familiar with lately.

He actually lets Patrick pick the movie for once, since he has no intention of really watching it, but he’s actually pretty proud of himself for waiting a full half-hour before he starts subtly fooling around.

“I know what you’re doing,” Patrick says, trying to hold back a laugh in his voice, his eyes trained on the TV with focus even as David bites at his earlobe. “And I’m starting to understand why you were totally cool with watching a sports documentary.”

“Mm,” David hums. “Complaints?”

Patrick responds by rolling his eyes at that, turning his whole body so they’re facing each other, and kissing him.

The next morning Patrick brings him coffee in bed before he even gets in the shower, despite the fact that David’s pulled all the sheets over his head and emitted only incoherent whining since the alarm started going off. He leaves it on the bedside table and pulls back the sheet, turns David’s head with two fingers to kiss him softly and wish him good morning before slipping away.

David holds the warm mug in his hands while Patrick gets ready and thinks about how different he feels from even a couple weeks ago. He remembers loving every single second of Patrick’s open mic performance but also feeling fucking _tortured_ , but now, even though he potentially has even less reason to be comfortable, he feels almost relaxed into it.

And don’t get him wrong, as much as he loves a grand gesture, it’s the little things that make him feel like Patrick has too. When they started this, every move felt calculated, thought-out. Now he gets Patrick’s easy touches, a bump of the shoulder or his fingers drawing patterns lazily across David’s skin. A quick, easy smile instead of a furtive look out of the corner of his eye. He gets David coffee before he drinks any himself. It feels—it feels real, like he’s not worried about messing up or getting too close. He tries to mentally catalog it to remember for later.

He’s playing this last night in his head on the way back from picking up coffees for them at the cafe, when he walks back into the shop—and then everything grinds to a halt.

Patrick is standing there talking to Jake.

Jake turns around at the chime of the bell and his face transforms. “Patrick, hey,” he says, slight surprise in his voice but still low and smooth as ever. He’s stepping forward and _kissing_ him, right on the mouth as always, quick and casual, and if David knew how to make it stop he would, but he couldn’t even figure out how to avoid them when they were sleeping together and he’s even less on his game now.

“Wow, what—hi, Jake, what are you doing here?” he manages, taking a half a step back to try and remove himself from Jake’s orbit. He sneaks a look at Patrick, who is agape and looks utterly crestfallen, and David feels like shit and _this isn’t even his fault_.

“I’ve been out of town the past six months. Taking a break from the grind, all that. You know how it can get,” he says, running a hand through his hair, and _no_ , David does not know “how it can get,” because he has apparently retained exactly zero things about being a woodworker.

Thankfully, Jake does not seem to require a response. “So this is your shop? That is so great, David, wow, you know when I first saw the name ‘Rose Apothecary’ I thought maybe your dad had founded a new business... but I see it now, this is much more your style,” he says, looking around and nodding approvingly.

“Oh, er. Um. Thank you?” David finally manages. Honestly, he kind of just wants to change the subject as much as possible. “I see you’ve met Patrick, he’s my business partner and—”

“Friend,” Patrick says with a fake, robotic smile as he steps forward and offers a hand, which Jake shakes.

And now it’s David’s turn to feel hurt because wow, have the past couple days really meant that little? He thought the months beforehand had all been building up to it, but now he feels like maybe he was wrong. Maybe Patrick’s just a better actor than he thought, and maybe he took what David was offering out of pure convenience. Or pity.

Dear god, please don’t let it be pity. He doesn’t think he could take it.

As if on cue, Jake’s phone starts buzzing in his back pocket. He rolls his eyes at David conspiratorially, as if there’s a joke there he’s somehow in on. “Sorry, I have to take this. Hey, you still have my number, right?” he asks, and all David manages to do is open his mouth to reply before Jake’s leaning forward and kissing him, fucking _again_ , hand warm and close on David’s shoulder. “Give me a call sometime,” he says as he walks back, heading out, the stupid door jangling behind him.

It’s silent before a minute, neither of them looking at each other before Patrick finally looks up from the floor and lets out a deep breath. “Wow.”

“Okay,” David jumps in, “Let me just explain, like, that whole _thing_ that just happened—”

“I thought you hadn’t dated anyone since you moved here,” Patrick cuts him off. “That’s what you said, anyway, that’s the whole reason you thought this would be a good idea. That’s what you told me.” His chin is tilted up slightly, defiant, and David feels so _frustrated_.

“Jake and I didn’t really _date_ ,” he replies, his tone sharper than he really intended it to be. “We had a fling that lasted a couple weeks. The summer. Whatever.”

Patrick scoffs at him, looking back at the floor and shaking his head like David’s just so predictable, so disappointing, and honestly, it could knock the breath right out of David. He’s gotten that look before dozens of times, but never once from Patrick, and it fucking stings.

“Look, you can ask Stevie, she’ll tell you, she _was_ dating him then—”

“Oh my god, _David_ ,” Patrick says, stepping forward, arms crossed over his chest.

David rolls his eyes because honestly, does Patrick really think he’d do _that_? Well, he has before, so fair point, but he wouldn’t do that to _Stevie_ , is the point. “Look, it definitely wasn’t like _that_ —Jake is just a very open person and he tried to get us to… you know… all of us.” He shakes his head quickly, closing his eyes, as if he can will the whole thing away. “And anyway, it doesn’t even matter, because we said no and it was over and I haven’t spoken to him since, so I don’t know why you care so much about this.”

“Because you _lied_ , David. You made me think that…” he trails off, shaking his head in disgust. “You know what? You’re right, it doesn’t matter. You don’t owe me an explanation.” He steps back again, turning around and busying himself with setting out the new order of soy candles, slamming each one down in a way that says it very much does matter. “Actually, it’s probably for the best anyway, because I don’t think we should do—whatever this is—anymore.”

David’s stomach drops out of his body. “What?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says, still refusing to look at him. “I mean, obviously you have people you could really be with here, and I’m just taking advantage of the situation. Or we’ve fallen into like, some kind of habit, I don’t know.” He shrugs, helpless. “Anyway, the whole Rachel situation is over, so I guess we’ve run our course.”

He shouldn't be surprised at what he’s hearing. This had to end eventually, right? He knew that. It wasn’t like they would just decide to fake-date one day and then just fucking get married down the line and be together forever, that’s unrealistic and absurd. God, he doesn’t even _want_ to get married, that’s never been in his plans, and why is he thinking such stupid shit? Patrick’s got him so off-guard he can’t even think straight. The only thing he can think to respond is to stand there, frozen, and say, “But I don’t want to be with Jake.”

Patrick shrugs, unmoved. “Go be with someone else, then. There’s plenty of other people to choose from, and you should be with someone you actually have feelings for.”

His voice sounds so cold, so utterly unlike him that there’s absolutely no world in which David can imagine himself saying what he means, because Patrick is rock solid on this and there’s no fucking point. _I don’t want anyone else. I want to be with you. I have feelings for_ you.

The words settle in his gut as he steels himself, sets his jaw. “Right,” he says, decisive, nodding once, and Patrick suddenly looks up at him, eyes slightly wide. “If that’s what you think is best,” he adds, with a bitter smile and just a hint of an edge in his voice, because he is absolutely not setting himself out there on a ledge when Patrick clearly thinks David is not an option, after this.

He stalks into the back. He’s already making up excuses in his head that if Patrick follows him, he’s going to claim he needed to take stock of the bath salts because they’re going fast and he might need to place another order.

But Patrick doesn’t follow him.

Instead, David stands there, bracing both his hands on the shelf, holding on so tight his knuckles go white, and tries to take deep breaths to keep from crying.

 

//

 

They manage to make it through the rest of the day by saying very little to each other. David is chillingly polite when he does have to speak and Patrick goes out of his way to stay as far away from David whenever possible, avoiding his eyes constantly.

So it’s not a total disaster, but it does sap all of David’s energy, and when he gets back to the motel, more than anything he just feels exhausted. He wants to lie down on his bed, lock his doors so no one bothers him, and not move for at least 48 hours. It doesn’t feel fair that a fake breakup, which he always knew was coming, could leave him feeling this emotionally drained.

But of course, because David doesn’t get to have nice things, Alexis is at the motel, fluttering around the “home office” side of their room. David doesn’t let this stop him from face-planting directly on the bed.

“Wow, dramatic much, David?” she asks, still flipping distractedly through her planner. “What’s wrong with you?”

David weighs his options. Chances are, if he doesn’t tell her, she’s just going to pester him until he does, and maybe if he does tell her, she’ll leave him alone to wallow in his misery.

He mumbles it into his pillow, but apparently that’s not good enough because Alexis is giving a deep sigh and stomping over to perch on the edge of his bed before he knows it. “What, David?”

He moves to face her but keeps his eyes closed. “Patrick and I broke up.”

Alexis _laughs_. She actually laughs at his misery. He opens his eyes to glare at her and she stops suddenly, eyes going wide. “Ohmigod, you’re serious.”

David nods, but Alexis is already shaking her head adamantly. “No, David,” she commands. “No, you must have misunderstood what poor little Patrick was saying or something, because there’s no way he would break up with you. Um, he just sent you a four month anniversary cookie a couple weeks ago! Absolutely not.”

“Why do you _assume_ he broke up with me?”

“Ummm, first of all because you’re flopping around like a sad gross dead fish, David? And second of all, as _if_ you would break up with Patrick, you look at him like he hung the moon for you,” she says, impatiently moving her hair out of her face.

Well, that’s fucking depressing. He thought he was doing everything he could to appear cool, calm, and collected throughout this entire—okay, well, the first 95% of—this endeavor, but apparently he was walking around with a puppy love written all over his face for everyone to see. And it didn’t even matter.

He huffs out a breath. “Well, for your information, he _did_ break up with me, for real, and if you could just take my word that it happened, that would be really helpful so we can move on to the part where you just, like, bring me a bunch of baked goods to eat and leave me alone with the TV.” And it’s so unfair, saying that, having to emphasize that they broke up ‘for real’ when this whole thing was only ever a calculated ploy.

But god, it certainly feels real.

“Nope,” Alexis says with finality, her face set and fully serious for once as she points authoritatively at him. “David? You can fix this.” She pokes him in the shoulder, and David recoils. “And you better, because Patrick’s going to be like a sad little teddy bear without you.”

“Okay, why does Patrick get to be a teddy bear and I have to be a decomposing fish?” he asks, offended.

“David,” Alexis groans, shrugging as she gets up. “Like, what do you want me to do? Those are your vibes, okay.”

 

//

 

Alexis does not bring him baked goods and romantic comedies. Or mall pretzels. Or even ice cream, which is slightly more cliche, but he would have accepted nonetheless due to dire circumstances.

She brings him Stevie instead.

“Why will no one respect my need for space and Julia Stiles in this dark time?” he whines.

Stevie ignores his dramatics, which is pretty much par for the course. “Sooo, I just spoke to Patrick,” she tries, and David swears to _god_ he is going to burrow under these blankets far enough that he can’t actually hear her. “He didn’t tell me what happened exactly, because he doesn’t know that I know everything, so I’m gonna need you to fill in some gaps. Also, he seemed kind of mad at me?” she says, raising an eyebrow at him.

It’s not fair, really, because talking to Alexis already wore down his first layer of armor, his best defenses, which, had he known, he would have saved for Stevie. “I messed up,” he says, low and quiet. “I took everything too far, I think. And he broke up with me, but he was still like, annoying cordial about it and said it was because he didn’t want to take advantage of me. Obviously an excuse to spare my feelings. Instead of the real reason, which is that I am now officially too much of a mess to even fake date.” He heaves a huge sigh. “Also, Jake showed up and ruined everything by existing, so that’s probably why he was short with you. Though he didn’t really let me explain that whole mess, so it could be worse, I guess? But still, enough of a mess that he was out.”

“Mm,” Stevie says, nodding, taking a second, and David can’t tell if she’s being truly sympathetic or if there’s a _touch_ of sarcasm there. “Well, while I’m sure Jake’s sudden reappearance in town doesn’t help things, this all _does_ makes sense because of all those times Patrick’s lied to you,” she says casually, flipping her hair over her shoulder, voice just dripping with sarcasm. It’s impressive, really.

David rolls his eyes at her. “Look, I don’t have the emotional energy to play games with you right now.”

Stevie shrugs, her face all fake-innocent. “No, no games at all, I’m just saying. Patrick is _very_ well known for _not_ saying exactly what he thinks, and _not_ being honest with you about what he’s thinking or feeling.”

David sits up against his will, crossing his arms. “Okay, so like, what are you saying, exactly? Because that would mean that he actually does have feelings for me, and thinks that I don’t have feeling for him, when in reality I like him so much it genuinely scares me.”

“Did he say he has feelings for you?” Stevie asks, and she’s trying to be chill about it but David knows her well enough to see the way her eyes light up slightly, the way she does when she’s sniffing out gossip.

He takes a minute to try and recall the exact words. “He said I shouldn’t have to be with someone that I don’t have feelings for, and that he was taking advantage of the situation. And he made it very clear with his tone that there was no room for argument.” Stevie is holding his gaze in that way that says she knows she’s got him. “So… he didn’t say that, _technically_ —”

“But any idiot could work out that’s what he meant,” she interrupts, looking just the tiniest bit frustrated with him.

“Are you calling me an idiot on the day I have been _broken up with_?”

“ _I_ am saying,” she clarifies, taking a deep breath as doing her best impression of a patient person, “that through every step of this dumb situation you both made up, Patrick has put himself out there. He has been honest and upfront with you and always put your feelings first, and that’s what you do when you have feelings for someone and don’t want to lose them. And that’s real.”

David sniffs, looking away from her, but she continues anyway. “Maybe this time, it’s your turn to be the brave one and tell him that he’s not alone in this.”

She lets him be quiet for a moment, thinking about it before he speaks. “Basically, _you_ think I should tell him how I feel without knowing for sure how he feels about me—in fact, when there’s a pretty good chance he hates me now—potentially embarrassing myself forever in his eyes and ruining not just our business partnership, but also our friendship and any future shot we might actually have at a relationship. Just so we’re clear.”

Stevie shrugs, absolutely ruthless as always. “Would you prefer to mope over the end of a fake-real relationship, or take a shot at having a real-real one?”

David sighs. “I… will… think about it while I do some light moping?”

Stevie gets up, smiling, probably realizing this is the best response she’s going to get here. “Excellent multitasking.”

 

//

 

He tries to sleep that night but there’s a problem, and it’s not even from the day-old cherry pie that Alexis brought him back from dinner at the cafe with their parents. The problem is that Stevie got all into his head, and her words have kind of decided to camp out there.

He gives Patrick his space for the next couple of days. He only texts him to say that he can’t come in for a while, and gets the most formal, professional confirmation back that it makes him want to throw his phone across the room.

However, Patrick does not stay out of mind. Every time David closes his eyes, he can’t think of anything but the way Patrick touched and held him that first night in Elm Valley, how he managed to be so careful and also like he was barely holding himself in, like he’d wanted it for longer than he let on. Was David an idiot for thinking that he’d just… lucked into a friend’s with benefits situation with a guy he was simultaneously fake-dating and also had a massive crush on? Or that they’d managed to skip the communication part, and just fallen seamlessly into a real relationship?

Probably. When he thinks about it like that, it does seem like that would inevitably get complicated. Especially with Patrick.

He’s not really sleeping well, what with all the aimless lying around he’s doing in the daytime with nothing to do but think. On the third night in a row when he’s awake staring at the ceiling, he decides the problem is he just likes Patrick so damn much. He likes the way he’s always thinking of other people, and how he goes out of his way to make David happy, even when it’s for something small and silly. He likes his smile—really likes it. He likes the way he gets slightly flustered when he’s nervous, the way he responds and calms himself slightly when David puts a hand on his back. He even likes his dumb mountain hiking shoes that are, frankly, useless and inappropriate. He loves—

Holy shit.

He sits up straight in bed, flinging off his eye mask into the darkness. He narrowly avoids hitting a sleeping Alexis with it, which is honestly a blessing because he doesn’t think he could handle her at 3 AM.

He _loves_ him.

That’s why everything felt so right the whole time. It’s why he feels so fucking gutted that Patrick ended it.

And he hates that it makes sense, because he’s had crushes on people and been into people but he’s never, like—cared, this way. He’s been through rough breakups, sure, but it was more about the fact that people tended to break up with him in uniquely humiliating and memorable ways. This definitely wasn’t as bad, pride-wise, as when Sebastian Raine broke up with him on a nature hike on a trip to his secluded cabin, and David ran through a patch of poison ivy trying to get away from him, tripping and falling on his face _more than once_. Or the time that artist, whose name was Caitlyn but went just by Cai, broke up with him through a rather unflattering portrait of him, which she then sold in his gallery. And don’t even get him fucking _started_ on parasailing with Anderson Cooper.

But he’s sad because he’s losing Patrick, the person who makes his life… better, honestly. He’s happier when he’s spending time with him, and he felt genuinely worried when Patrick was sick, and he still remembers the way his heart threatened to beat out of his chest when Patrick was singing to him in front of the whole goddamn town. The way he felt like he won the lottery, somehow the luckiest guy in the room.

Lately, when good things happen, Patrick is the first person he wants to tell. He looks forward to coming home to him at the end of the day. And he loves waking up next to him.

It sounds like a low bar, but it feels like so much more than that. It feels like… a revelation, like the start of something he’s never had before.

He doesn’t sleep a wink.

 

//

 

“Here’s the thing,” David says as he storms into the shop the next morning, _before_ opening time, even. And does it really count as storming if he’s entering his _own_ store with authority? Whatever, that’s the energy and he’s going to own it.

Patrick looks up immediately, clearly surprised to see him, his face colored with surprise from the back of the store where he’s carefully arranging the face serums. “David,” he says, his tone guarded in a way David’s never heard before, and it’s like a fucking knife.

“Hi,” he replies, short, walking right over until he’s about an arm’s length in front of Patrick, and he can tell Patrick’s slightly uncomfortable but he can’t think about that right now. “As I was saying, here’s the thing. I don’t want to break up.”

Patrick’s brow furrows. “But... we weren’t really together, David. This can’t go on forever, it’s not fair.”

“Weren’t we?” he bites back. “Because I have been informed by some people recently that maybe we were, and maybe I was just too much of an idiot to see it.”

“What are you talking about?” Patrick asks, sounding genuinely confused, squinting at him, and David knows he’s not explaining this right but he’s _determined_.

“Look. I glossed over Jake at the beginning because I didn’t think things would really get this far, and also because the whole situation was honestly so embarrassing. But the longer we went on, the less the Jake stuff seemed to matter at all, because… the thing is, I think this is the realest relationship I’ve had,” he confesses.

Patrick freezes, and it’s dead silent and wants to _die_ , but he has to get this out.

“Because I’ve never felt like this with someone. I’ve never cared about whether their dumb high school friends were rude to them or not, or whether they slept well the night before, or whether my family likes them as much as I do. And I know that sounds terrible, but I’ve never had someone who _cares_ about me either, who will go out of their way to make sure I’m warm enough in bed or gets jealous of my exes or will stay up to wire a light for me.”

Patrick is flushed, his jaw set, and his eyes look wet. He looks down at his shoes, and nothing David has ever done has mattered this much. He needs Patrick to look at him, he needs to know what he’s thinking.

“When you sang that song at the open mic night, I wanted you to be singing it to me for real,” he admits, voice breaking slightly. “And then every time you kissed me, I wanted it to be real. It wasn’t about my family, or about your ex-fiance, or any of that, if I’m going to pretend it ever really was. When I slept with you? That was for real too.”

“That was for real?” Patrick murmurs, crossing his arms, looking at him, but David can’t make out his expression.

“I think _you know_ it was,” he says, and he can hear the tears in his own voice now, and this is such a mess. “I think you’re scared, and that’s why you said those things the other day. And I get it! I’m scared too! That’s why I said what I did and I’m _sorry_ , okay, but also I’ve never _done_ this before, I’ve _never_ let someone in like this, and it’s fucking terrifying.” He takes a deep, steadying breath, shakes his head in hopes of clearing it. “But I want you more than I want to be scared.”

Patrick looks at him for a long moment, considering. David wants to wipe at his face where the tears have spilled over, but he doesn’t want to break this, doesn’t want to lose the moment until Patrick says something, anything.

“I was singing that song to you for real, David,” he admits, and _god_ , it feels like a weight has come off his shoulders to hear it. “And when I kissed you, that was for real, and everything, it was all real. But it’s still not fair, I can’t, like, Jedi-mind trick you into dating me. You deserve someone who—”

“Don’t,” David says, physically putting a hand out to stop him, because he can’t bear to hear Patrick say he deserves someone, something, _better_. “First of all, I don’t know what that means, and second of all, you’re the best person I know. You—you take the hard parts of me and you make them better.” He throws his hands up, at his wits end, out of ideas now. “ _You_ make _me_ better.” A deep breath. “And I love you.”

Patrick looks like the wind has been knocked out of him. “You love me?”

David nods, lips pressed firmly together because he doesn’t trust himself to speak anymore, and he crosses his arms across his chest and fixes his gaze on his feet, one shoe toeing nervously into the hardwood floor.

He hears Patrick let out a long, shaky breath, and then he’s stepping towards him, taking David’s face in one hand and kissing him. Patrick’s _kissing_ him, and he doesn’t even care that it’s gross with his tears on his face and that he’s shaking and all of it. Patrick’s arm goes easily around his waist and David clings onto him for dear life.

When they pull away, David can see the emotion in Patrick’s eyes, how overcome by all of this he is too.

“I’m sorry about what I said,” Patrick says, his voice slightly hoarse. “I was so scared because—I guess I thought at the beginning we were kind of on the same page about everything? And if we were, we had a shot at making this… you know, real.”

He turns his gaze to David’s hand that he’s now holding in his own, fiddling with the tips of David’s fingers and the silver rings David knows he likes so much. “I should have been honest with you instead of running away,” he says. “And I know we have a long way to go, I know that. But I’ve never felt this way about anyone before you, David.”

David feels himself getting choked up all over again, and when Patrick meets his eyes, he feels the tears spill over. But for once, he doesn’t feel the least bit embarrassed about any of it. Here in Patrick’s arms, he’s never felt stronger.

“I thought I knew what love was supposed to feel like, with Rachel.” Patrick says, voice low, something in his face so lovely and broken and brave, and David can feel himself shaking. “But it wasn’t. It was never anything like this.”

David presses close to kiss him, soft this time, nothing desperate about it. It’s somewhere between an apology and a promise, which David thinks is probably right where they’re supposed to be.

“I love you, David Rose,” Patrick murmurs against his lips, and David’s heart flutters uncontrollably in his chest as he loops his arms around Patrick’s neck, kissing him again.

The bell on the door rings suddenly and they jump apart, gasping and slightly disheveled. David catches Patrick out of the corner of his eye hurriedly trying to un-wrinkle his button-down, and the edge of a hysterical laugh escapes him against his will.

“Welcome to Rose Apothecary,” he says to an open-mouthed Bob, still laughing as he wipes at his eyes. “Can we help you?”

Bob puts his hands up immediately, an apologetic gesture as he starts to back away. “Hey, it looks like you boys are having a moment… I can come back later,” he suggests, already fumbling for the phone in his back pocket. David is sure that he’s already planning what to report back to Gwen, and after that, he knows the gossip will spread through the town like wildfire.

“See you,” Patrick calls after him, blushing, but grinning fully as David turns back to him.

David beams back, thinking that in this moment, there’s nowhere else in the world he would rather be.

 

//

 

Bob does come back a good thirty minutes later, smiling knowingly in a way that embarasses them both thoroughly. The morning turns busy after that, with seemingly everyone from Roland to Twyla wandering in to make nosy, well-meaning, and slightly congratulatory small talk and not really buy anything. If forced to admit it, David would allow that it is almost unbearably sweet, but it also kind of makes him want to hide in the stock room and not come out for the rest of the day. The whole situation makes inventory actually look enticing.

Patrick rolls his eyes fondly at this statement and lets David go get them lunch as a reprieve. So he’s at the cafe, trying to avoid making eye contact with a highly animated, waving Ray across the room when he gets a text from Patrick.

Just looking at his name pop up on his phone after not seeing it for a while makes him smile, but the feeling quickly warms to something deeper when he reads the message.

**Hey… just so we’re clear… stay over tonight?**

He watches the little typing ellipses bubble appear and disappear three times before a second one comes through, reading:

**I haven’t been sleeping well and I think I need you to fix that.**

...and fuck, how did he get a real boyfriend who can make propositioning him so unbearably sweet?

Of course, there’s no way he could resist that offer. He goes back to the motel to tell Stevie he took her advice and it was a success, and she of course acts nonchalant and mumbles about it taking three times as long as it needed to. Alexis notices him throwing clothes in his overnight bag as quickly as he possibly can to avoid notice, and purposefully asks him too loudly where he’s going, which of course attracts his mom and his dad.

“Well done, son,” his dad says, clapping him slightly too hard on the back but with real pride in his eyes. “Your mother and I are happy for you.”

Moira looks over from where she had been primping her wig in the mirror. “Are we? For what, dear?”

“David and Patrick worked it out, they’re back together,” Johnny crows, beaming.

“Well, _obviouslyyy_ , John,” his mother trills, still distracted by her own reflection. “Weren’t they already? Or maybe it’s just so obvious they were going to… anyway dear, try to keep up,” she says, offhand, and his dad rolls his eyes, but his mother winks at him with a smile, which he appreciates.

Eventually he does make it over to Patrick’s, and he only gets in one knock before Patrick throws the door open, a wide grin spreading across his face as soon as he lays eyes on him.

“Hi,” he sighs, and the happiness is obvious in his voice, and David is trying his hardest not to smile like a total idiot but he’s pretty sure he’s failing, but he’s also nearly positive he doesn’t care one bit.

“Hi.”

Patrick takes his bag from him and pulls David inside in one smooth move, kissing him in a way that starts off casual but soon has David’s face heating up, both of them short of breath.

“The door is still open,” he notes, biting his lip when Patrick gives him a chance to breathe.

“Don’t care,” he exhales, and David laughs, kissing him again, though he does note that Patrick kicks the door shut behind them.

Patrick made burgers, which, just like everything else, feels spot-on: casual, familiar, homey. David can’t quite imagine Patrick cooking them a three-course meal with candles lit—well, scratch that, he absolutely can, but he’s glad it’s not right away. Though David did bring Zhampagne, so who is he to talk, really.

They sit next to each other on Patrick’s barstools instead of across from each other like they used to before, seemingly just so Patrick can press their knees together under the table, not that David’s complaining. He thinks they’re both a little bit giddy from all of it, because it feels like they laugh even more than usual. At one point Patrick casually swipes a bit of sauce from the side of David’s mouth with his thumb, and David loses his train of thought mid-sentence, which is monumentally dumb and Patrick looks very proud of himself for.

He also keeps refilling their glasses, so they end up going through the Zhampagne much faster than David would have guessed. That’s how he ends up in Patrick’s lap on the couch, their hands moving lazy and slow, with the dirty dishes still sitting out on the island—something that has _never_ happened before and something that Patrick would absolutely not allow normally, so David’s pretty sure it’s the alcohol’s fault.

“Fuck, I missed you,” Patrick groans into his skin as David kisses over his pulse point, and David feels his face color immediately at the words.

“I wasn’t gone that long,” he mumbles, slightly embarrassed at the force of his own reaction, and then Patrick is gathering his face in his hands so he can look at him head-on.

He seems to search for something in David’s face, and he can’t help but think that whatever it is, he hopes he finds it there. “I don’t know,” he shrugs, his own face plaintive and honest. “Felt long.”

David nods, clearing his throat. His voice is still low and gravelly when he responds, despite his intentions. “Yeah,” he agrees. “I missed you, too.”

They make it to the bed pretty quickly after that, and it feels like the night has gone hushed around them, holding its breath. It’s intense and in a totally different way than it was at the hotel—it’s deeper, headier.

Their clothes end up in a tangled pile on the floor, and then Patrick kisses him until he feels he might actually die, he absolutely cannot take it anymore.

So he rolls over and opens himself up with his fingers, Patrick looking at him hungry and in awe the whole time, and David thinks through his blush that he can’t wait for everything ahead of them.

“Jealous?” he asks with a hint of a smirk, shuddering a little at the way Patrick is looking at him, his eyes dark.

Patrick catches his wrist. “I get to do this to you next time,” he says, and David groans at the words, nodding hard.

Patrick fucks him slow and careful, nervous at first, and then they’re so close and both of them are shaking and David can honestly say it’s never been like this for him, not once. It’s awkward and intimate and clumsy and lovely and… perfect.

“I love you,” he gasps out just before he comes, and Patrick moans at the words, lets go of where he has David’s wrists pinned above his head to tangle their fingers together instead. His hips move faster and he pants into David’s skin until David tips his chin up, drawing their lips together and kissing him fast and breathless until Patrick cries out into David’s mouth, comes. He keeps moving through it, and David is over-sensitive and lit-up inside, scratching his nails soothingly at the back of Patrick’s neck even as he collapses on top of him, both of them sweaty and spent as they catch their breath.

Afterward, Patrick pulls out so, so carefully and David only winces a little, but Patrick still kisses his knuckles sweetly in apology before he cleans them both up like a gentleman. He climbs back in between the sheets after, and David moves toward him like a magnet, settling into his favorite spot under Patrick’s arm, face pillowed against his chest.

It’s quiet and almost reverent for a second before Patrick clears his throat, maybe even a little nervously. “So, can you clarify something for me?”

David cranes his neck to look at him, curious. “Yes?”

Patrick is wearing a hesitant smile. “So, when you said earlier that ‘some people’ told you that maybe we were real…”

“Ah,” David sighs, resigned to the fact that he would eventually have to admit this. “People is just Stevie. Stevie has known the whole time.”

Patrick nods slowly and says, “Ah,” in a way that David knows he is not in the least bit surprised. “Okay. Because I was worried for a second that the whole Rose family might know… David?”

David knows he suddenly went tense. “Yes?”

“ _Does_ your whole family know?”

“Good question,” he stalls, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. “Because after you broke up with me, I talked to Stevie and Alexis, and Alexis didn’t know anything but…”

Patrick’s smile is widening. “Yes?” he asks, in a kind tease of David’s feigned innocence from a moment ago and David’s heart skips a bit.

“I think maybe Stevie might have filled her in after I left, so—”

“So Alexis might know?”

“Possibly,” David winces.

Patrick nods again, understandingly, still smiling, amused. “And if Alexis knows…”

“Yes, most likely, the whole town knows now.” David finishes, out with it, and Patrick laughs.

He moves so they’re facing each other and sighs, happy. “Well, thank god there is never a dull minute in Schitt’s Creek,” he says.

David laughs into his mouth as Patrick kisses him, and for the first time, he thanks his father’s shady business manager for stealing their whole lives right out from under them.

Because absolutely no part of it was as good as this.

**Author's Note:**

> [I made the playlist](https://open.spotify.com/user/123853743/playlist/1rSzhea4j5NZQpqYVjYoxU?si=jcNd8AUsRoWiduJ9e7nVgQ) David mentions in this fic because I'm ~extra~ and I have no regrets. 
> 
> (Also, this is unbeta'd because honestly I shouldn't have even had time to write this, so if you found an error, please let me know! Hope you enjoyed.)


End file.
